

Class_ . rZ^b 

Book_ AJ 




COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



11 p> , ' ^* «.' ^ . • ■ ► * V 




* -^ t - ^ 


• -f ‘ ./r.. 


^ ‘ V 





\< 


' • >' 


.» • . 




f 





'■■ - ■ i?®;:; :■ .. ..T 




.1 

* » ' 


i>'/-;. 


i/..: 


. ■ ■ >-r ••■: ■ (v*''A^V;:';m.?'- ■ ■,'-.v:.^>! ' 'i 

-'ttait. vyfe^!S ' ^ ■■ ■ ., 

■ ••■- ,•'■ - ■::■■■: ■ . -A i.i’ 


- / 


_• i 


i 


'■ ;• fi 

■ 

* ‘ ‘ r I • 

• ' - -. 


• k- ’ * • 

s. , -T* 


■ rr?5 


■s‘ 


M*« 

' ' • v> 




x'** *. 


l . 

•• » 




i.;-^ : "•• • :V ;: V '■:^*. 







A TYPICAI^ PICKANINNY 





GILBERT; 

OR, 

THEN AND NOW. 


A Thrilling Story of the Life and Achievements of 
a Virginia Negro. 


BY 

J. CABANISS UNDERWOOD. 


PUBLISHED BY 

H. D. SHAIFFER 
PHILADELPHIA 




1 Ht LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS, 


Two Copies Received 

JAN J6 1903 


Copyright Entry 
CLAS^'CX- XXc. No, 

U- 0 s 

COPY 


XXc. No, 



Copyright, 1902, 

BY 

Hi 



PKB9S OF 

ImTEHNATIONAIj Phintiuo Coheastx 
301 Chestnut Stebbt 


HHII.ADEL.PHIA 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. Birth and Childhood ii 

II. Bound Out i6 

III. Claremont and Colonel Allen 27 

IV. Gilbert Weds . 40 

V. A Trying Hour 51 

VI. A Fatal Step 70 

VII. Murder 83 

VIII. Gilbert’s Escape 98 

IX. Great Excitement — Butchery of Lyttleton Hart 116 

X. Capture of the Outlaws — Gilbert Faces Them . 131 

XI. Gilbert and the Spy 14? 

XII. Gilbert in General Butler’s “ Bull Pen” ... 167 

XIII. Riley’s Gratitude 184 

XIV. Flying Point 207 

XV. Gilbert in Politics 224 

XVI. Gilbert Visits New York 237 

XVII. New York Continued 257 

XVIII. Gilbert Takes a Wife 276 

XIX. Financial Disaster 291 

XX. A Friend of Long Ago 303 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


PAGE 

A Typical Pickaninny 2 

A Colored Slave Woman Nursing WTiite Child .... 19 

Valley Gorge . 64 

Bridge at Jamestown Island 96 

Gilbert 267 

Georgia 278 







The Author takes high pleasure in dedi- 
cating this work to all those gentlemen 
of the Afro-American race who have 
labored diligently for the elevation of their 
brethren. 



|;fS^#p^■': ,. : i ;|;. blh ' • ■ - 

liiNliJfKH'^' if%v^ : 

;•.;■■ ‘ rr i ■ • ■ i f - ''h 



^A‘ ( y'-fr^- ■ - i h /V 4 s :i ?> ^ ^ Y'* 

MmI :£a«r • . .-'*' • l;4Mj"!'ii l.b‘ vMJ. .'■ 


, , . i'- 

•■ -A' '•'■ i 


n.' 


' > S ■" 

'u. ^ ' IS 


• k '• 

I 


, I 


I * •* ■'. f I I t 

■ ' -“' ,•.■ :■ '■ i ■ . f 1 


r'* ''.V '•'•'>) ' 

*> •• •} \ itfi < ■ ' 




PREFACE. 


T his work is submitted to the public without 
apology. It is the story of the lifetime 
experience of an ante belluin, uneducated, Vir- 
ginia negro. It will be found replete with thrill- 
ing adventure, touching loyalty, and, in many 
instances, nigh superhuman achievements. 
Covering a period of sixty years, it includes 
much inside unwritten history of his time prior 
to and during the Civil War, and much may 
be gleaned by the reader of the present gen- 
eration. 

The part he took during the excitement over 
the John Brown raid should be read by every 
Southern man. His harangue to the black 
slave leaders who had clandestinely assembled 
to formulate a plot to rise and murder their 
white masters should endear his memory to 
every descendant of a former slave owner. 
The story, in all of its details of the Jamestown 
massacre, of which Gilbert was the sole sur- 
vivor, is not only of deep interest, but is ex- 
tremely thrilling. 

The men of the North, and those of the 
South, who participated in the Armies of the 


PREFACE. 


Rebellion, will find in this work many interest- 
ing incidents of the part he played between the 
lines of the contending forces. And lastly, the 
public will discover an unbiased expression of 
the truth of the adage, “A man’s a man for a’ 
that.” 


The Author. 


CHAPTER I. 

BIRTH AND CHILDHOOD. 

I T was away back during the early adminis- 
tration of President Andrew Jackson, while 
the Nation was teeming with the excitement of 
his quaint campaign speeches and his far more 
important executive acts. At a time when the 
Blackwater belt of Virginia was up in arms and 
alarm over the incipient war between the whites 
and their slaves, the latter under the leadership 
of Nat Turner who had induced his fellow 
bondsmen to oppose the authority of their mas- 
ters — that there was born to a free colored 
mother and a slave father, in the county of Sus- 
sex, State of Virginia, not far distant from the 
scene of “ Nat’s Rebellion,” as the uprising 
among the slaves was termed, a boy child who 
was destined to enact a role upon the stage of 
life most remarkably thrilling, likewise romantic 
and tragically energetic. 

It was during the year eighteen hundred and 
thirty-one that Gilbert first saw the light of day 
and breathed the free air of heaven. The exact 
date may never be known, as all of those who 


12 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


might have been in possession of this particular 
knowledge have long since passed away and 
are known only in the memory of the oldest 
inhabitants. 

During his early childhood Gilbert differed 
but little from other children in his sphere of 
life among the blacks. His mother being a free 
born negress, under the law of descent and 
that of the State in which she lived, Gilbert was 
not amenable to the control of anyone save his 
maternal parent. The first ten years of the 
boy’s life were spent in listless abandon, about 
the cabin door of his birthplace, near the swamp 
of the Blackwater River, whence he unre- 
strainedly roamed — half wild, half clad — with- 
out a disturbing care, save perhaps a childish 
fear, that his mother’s scanty larder might not 
afford him a sufficient supply of ash cake or 
perchance that ’possum and “coon” were 
threateningly scarce. 

Gilbert had no idea of letters. The law of 
the Old Dominion Commonwealth forbade, 
under heavy penalty, anyone from instructing 
a negro in the art even of learning the alphabet. 
He had never looked in a book, never once 
dreamed of the primary rudiments of an edu- 
cation. He only existed, living from hand to 
mouth like any other pickaninny of his race 


BIRTH AND CHILDHOOD. 


18 


and time, basking in the sunshine of indolent 
contentment, free from the cares and perplex- 
ities of life. One morning Gilbert awoke from 
his dream of blissful security, however, to the 
consciousness that he was all alone in this cruel 
world ; that there were none left to caress him ; 
that he must sink or swim as chance decreed, 
for before his infantile gaze he beheld his 
mammy, dead ! 

Charitable hands performed the last service 
she required, and little Gilbert was, indeed, a 
waif. No father’s care to shield and support 
him ; no friend to encourage or comfort him ; 
he was simply Gilbert, the little orphan. “ Free 
nigger,” without a home, without a known 
friend — practically without a country. At his 
tender age these reflections would not have so 
much disturbed him as his loneliness, which 
was quickly relieved, however, by the friendly 
voice of one whose sympathy for the little 
orphan’s helplessness prompted him to come to 
his rescue, and which deed of kindness led to 
the future moulding of this seemingly insignifi- 
cant black lump of mortal clay into a shape 
from which developed a future replete with 
adventures and enterprise, romance, danger and 
fortitude. Joy and sorrow were to accompany 
him in his struggle. Endurance and suffering, 


14 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


fame and fortune, faithfulness and honor became 
his handmaids. And now in the ripeness of his 
old age truly may he find throughout the length 
and breadth of this glorious land, those who 
will sympathize with him in his battle of life ; 
rejoice with him in his past success ; regret his 
misfortunes ; admire his sterling qualities ; 
pause amazed at the force of character he has 
always displayed, and finally, when one has 
read the life of this living exponent of what the 
black American citizen may accomplish single- 
handed, untutored and alone, truly all must 
acknowledge that victory does not in every 
instance perch upon the banners of the supe- 
rior race,’^ but that the colored brother is even 
more deserving of respect and encouragement 
than the indigent, degenerate, white man who 
boasts a social superiority inherited from a line 
of worthy sires who hurled defiance at a semi- 
barbaric system. 

One need only study the career of Booker T. 
Washington to learn how perseverance and en- 
ergy, coupled with an indomitable will and a deter- 
mination to overcome seemingly insurmountable 
obstacles v/ill succeed, even in a man with a 
black skin. Self-educated himself, he has for 
severel years devoted his best efforts to the up- 
lifting of his race, and the success he has met 


BIRTH AND CHILDHOOD. 


15 


with in this laudable endeavor is secondary only 
to that which rewarded his early struggles in 
his own behalf. The persistency and eloquence 
with which he has advocated higher education 
for colored youth has attracted to the cause em- 
inent men and women, not only in the United 
States, but from almost every country in the 
civilized world. 


CHAPTER II. 

BOUND OUT. 

R obert bain, a white man, living near the 
home of the lad Gilbert’s mother, was he 
who came to the rescue of the boy at the mo- 
ment when, overwhelmed by his bereavement 
and loneliness, the child knew not which way 
to go, or a soul who would care for him. Rob- 
ert Bain was a thrifty planter, of no mean 
ability, possessing a kind heart and gentle man- 
ner. Like others in that section of rural Vir- 
ginia, he owned a fine estate, well-stocked with 
human as well as animal life. 

Among the members of Mr. Bain’s family 
was his son, William, or as he was more famil- 
iarly known, “Billy,” about the same age as 
that of the lad Gilbert. Billy’s father bethought 
him of the opportunity to render Gilbert a very 
great kindness, and, at the same time find a 
suitable servant companion for his future heir. 
With this determination in his mind he led the 
orphan boy to his home and installed him in 
comfortable quarters, having apprised him of 
the fact that he would apprentice him during 


BOUND OUT. 


17 


his minority and that he should not lack a 
friend during Mr. Bain’s lifetime. 

Naturally everything about him appeared 
strange to this backwoods boy, accustomed 
only to the noise of owls and bats, or the shrill 
yelp of the gray fox. He literally knew noth- 
ing of the habits and customs of the better 
class of white people who dwelt about him. 
In fact this was the first planter’s dwelling he 
had ever entered, and the contrast between the 
thatched-roof shanty wherein he had been born 
and the luxuriance of this country seat came 
nigh bewildering him. In the course of a week 
or two, however, the boy had become accus- 
tomed to his new surroundings, and like any 
other child of such tender age, soon forgot his 
grief and became thoroughly absorbed in the 
new and strange sights hourly appearing before 
his astonished gaze. Mr. Bain had supplied 
him with suitable raiment, in which to make a 
presentable appearance and had installed him in 
the ‘‘ great house,” as the blacks generally 
were in the habit of designating the mansion 
of the master of an estate, there to serve and 
amuse Billy, his young master, and to run 
errands for the mistress of the farm. 

Billy Bain was delighted with this new acqui- 
sition to his boyish pleasures and soon formed 


18 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


a warm attachment for this strange child. The 
two boys became fast friends, nor has the hour 
yet come when either regretted the strange fate 
that threw them together. 

It is singular and well nigh unaccountable, 
that at this day, when liberal, social and politi- 
cal views have made such stupendous strides, 
when an enlightened age, the civilized world 
over, has become convinced that the color of a 
human skin should not debar its wearer of lib- 
erty nor equal rights before the laws of the 
realm, that one hears so much said about the 
fear of contamination of the white and black 
race. No honest man will dispute the fact that 
prior to the Civil War, the children of the slave 
owner and those of his black servants associ- 
ated as freely and in a spirit of as sincere friend- 
ship as did ever a Damon and Pythias. It is, 
indeed, a consoling reflection, evidencing that 
broad and generous view of generations past, 
from the days of the Washingtons, who allowed 
one of their slaves to be married in the library 
of Mount Vernon, in the presence of the 
Washington family, who graced the occasion, 
that no idea of contamination nor degrading 
influence or prejudice was entertained. The 
mistress mingled freely with the maid-servant in 
the domestic relations, the master often con- 


I 





\ 

% 


( 





» 




r, 


\ 


$ 




I 


' < 


0 


I 








I 






I 


r 






> 


I 

V. 


r 


L 

ft 


ft 


r 




r 


ft 


ft 


ft 






4 







« 


w 


'•*. 


I 


» 


I 






I 




/ 



I 


» ¥ 


t 


t 



.^• 




r 


•I 


I 




4 




A COr.ORKD SLAVE WOMAN NURSING A WHITE CHILD. 




BOUND OUT. 


19 


ferred with and took council of his men-servants 
touching the interests of the plantations ; the 
children of the household were privileged to 
wile away the hours of the day in play with 
those of black slave mothers and often took 
them to the nursery with them at night. 

Why, then, should the scions of these cherish 
a feeling of hatred, or of fear of social degrada- 
tion — toward the blacks ? Why should the 
whites of the present day ostracise the progeny 
of those whom the master and mistress of fifty 
years ago so beloved ? Are they ashamed of 
the contaminating (?) influence drawn from the 
breast of some “ black mammy ” by the fathers 
who begat them, or the mothers who bore 
them ? Is it a sentiment ; a narrow-minded 
degeneracy of the present generation, or is it 
simply a political trick to keep the Negro in the 
background ? 

For six years the boy Gilbert resided in the 
family of Robert Bain without a care to mar 
the buoyancy of his rapidly developing man- 
hood. The Orphans’ Court had regularly ap- 
prenticed him, for the period of his minority, 
to the kind and considerate master to whom he 
owed so great a debt of gratitude. He soon 
found that he was treated far differently and 
with a deal more of consideration than the rest 


20 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


of the colored members of Mr. Bain’s house- 
hold ; that he was practically recognized as one 
of the family circle. All of which he attributed 
to the influence of young Billy, who generally 
had his own way. 

The instructive training, in the way of pre- 
paring the boy for a life of usefulness, he had 
received from both his master and mistress dur- 
ing the years he had served them, made a deep 
and lasting impression upon the mind of Gilbert 
and laid the foundation for the growth of those 
traits of character which, in after years, became 
so commendably prominent and which served 
him so successfully at times when he stood in 
the greatest need of mature judgment 

During this period of his life he was often 
associated with white boys of about his own 
age. Playing with them on terms of equality, 
he hunted and fished with them, besides indulg- 
ing in many of the sports of the day. The sons 
of the planters of that period bore neither preju- 
dice nor malice toward the black boy of one 
of their neighbor companions. But, passing 
strange as it may appear, for their descendants 
to mingle with the blacks at this day would be 
considered a disgrace. Is the colored man of 
the hour inferior to his ancestors, or is the white 
man of this generation better than the sire in 


BOUND OUT. 


21 


whom he takes so much pride in commemorat- 
ing the memory of, and in heralding his con- 
nection with the world ? 

When Gilbert had reached his sixteenth birth- 
day, Robert Bain sickened and died. No 
greater calamity could have befallen his ap- 
prentice. No member of the Bain family more 
sincerely mourned the loss of the head of the 
house than did this poor orphan boy. The 
friendly counsel he had enjoyed ; the kindly in- 
struction he had so regularly received ; the 
sound of the voice of his master — rather let us 
say his foster parent — had been forever silenced 
by the Grim Reaper at a time when he so much 
needed the advice to which he had become ac- 
customed. True, the mistress and young Billy 
Bain remained to comfort him, but these were 
not he who had rescued the child in the hour of 
his helplessness. After the death of Robert 
Bain, Gilbert became restless and dissatisfied. 
The only home which, indeed, he had ever en- 
joyed ; the only friend whom he had really 
ever appreciated became a blank. 

What should he do ; go, or stay ? He was 
rapidly nearing his seventeenth birthday. His 
young master had discarded the amusements of 
his boyhood, and he too had tired of childish 
sports. His mind, however, was quickly made 


22 


GILBERT; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


Up. He would leave the old plantation, and 
try the world on his own account. 

No sooner had he informed the widow of 
Robert Bain of his intention than he was at 
once confronted with the information that his 
term of service did not expire with the death of 
his master, but would continue under her 
guidance until he reached the age of twenty- 
one years. This announcement fell about his 
ears like a thunder clap from a clear sky. He 
had not once thought of such a thing, but he 
could readily understand it, and thus he saw 
his intentions frustrated in the twinkling of an 
eye. Against this edict, however, the boy re- 
belled, but the stern command of the Orphans’ 
Court compelled him to accept the inevitable, 
and he took his place on the farm, no longer as 
a companion and house-servant, but as a field- 
laborer. His changed condition greatly galled 
the spirit of the boy who, although entirely un- 
lettered, had received a training deserving of 
a better and higher station and he was deter- 
mined to break the bonds that fettered him. 
Fate came to his rescue, however, sooner than 
he might have expected. Only a few months 
thereafter Mrs. Bain followed her husband to 
the grave, and the boy saw an avenue of possi- 
ble escape, yet there was another impediment 


BOUND OUT. 


28 


to appear upon the face of this perplexing prob- 
lem which he anxiously awaited to see de- 
veloped. 

When the funeral services over the remains 
of Gilbert’s late mistress had ended and her 
remains had been deposited beside those of 
her late husband, Gilbert was informed by 
a relative of his late mistress that he must 
serve the remainder of his term of apprentice- 
ship under the husband of a married daughter 
of his former master, who resided in another 
section of Sussex County. This changing of 
masters did not suit the boy at all and he openly 
opposed the arrangement to the end. 

I shall never submit. I was bound out to 
Robert Bain, not to anyone else, nor do I intend 
to serve under another,” said he, when told to 
pack his bundle and report at his new home. 

A gentleman, who had been for years a close 
friend of Robert Bain, learning of the contem- 
plated disposition to be made of Gilbert, advised 
the boy to run away. Gilbert at once heeded 
this suggestion, and true to the characteristic 
instincts of his race acted upon the advice which 
had come so opportunely, and packing his 
belongings into a convenient bundle and safely 
tucking the few coins he had saved securely in 
his pocket, during the day, was prepared to bid 


24 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


farewell to Sussex County before another sun 
should rise. Morning found him well on the 
road to the home of an acquaintance who resided 
in Petersburg, where he arrived safely, and hav 
ing told his story was welcomed as a refugee. 

Of course his sudden and unceremonious 
departure created a sensation at the Bain home- 
stead, greatly aggravating those who had 
assumed authority over the boy. A diligent 
search was inaugurated, looking to his capture, 
but time sped on and no tidings were received 
from the recreant fugitive who had baffled the 
searchers, and so far successfully sundered the 
bonds that bound him to a distasteful master, 
thereby defying the decree of the court that he 
should linger on a farm until his manhood had 
been attained. 

Gilbert was safe from capture and found him- 
self nineteen years old before a longing desire 
crept over him to return to the haunts of his 
childhood. This inclination he repelled for a 
season but in an evil moment he gave way to 
his inclinations, and, now a physically devel- 
oped man, with the earnings of more than a 
year’s labor in his pocket, he journeyed back to 
Sussex County to see the folks he had left two 
years before. 

Scarcely had he crossed the boundary of his 


BOUND OUT. 


26 


native township when he was recognized, appre- 
hended and returned to the scenes of his former 
labors. It was with no good grace that the 
young man made the journey beside an officer, 
back to the Bain Homestead, but even while 
en route thither his mind was actively engaged 
and plans of escape were laid. He expected 
no favors upon his arrival. He knew that the 
two years of service looked for by the new mas- 
ter, which he had not rendered, was calculated 
to embitter any feeling he might entertain, and 
hence Gilbert scented trouble from afar. 

So you have come back,” were the first 
words that greeted him when he alighted in the 
presence of his irate master. 

** Yes, I have been brought back but not to 
stay, for I give you notice I will not serve you,” 
was Gilbert's repl)\ 

This response so enraged the man that he 
struck Gilbert a stinging blow which sent his 
blood tingling through his veins. He would 
not tamely submit to such treatment, and in less 
than a week he was again a fugitive, deter- 
mined never again to be caught in Sussex dur- 
ing his minority, and as this story progresses 
the reader will learn that he kept that deter- 
mination to the letter. 

We leave Gilbert to his fate to introduce 


26 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


Other localities and characters who have much 
to do with the hero of this story, only intimat- 
ing that the young man found friends, and 
abundant employment, to satisfy his longings, 
during the remaining years of his minority. 


CHAPTER III. 

CLAREMONT AND COLONEL ALLEN. 

B ordering the James River’s southern^ 
bank opposite the mouth of the Chicka- 
hominy, its largest tributary, which became so 
historically memorable in early colonial days, 
and again during the conflict between the States 
of the Union, being the route of the Federal 
forces under General McClellan, in his famously 
ill-starred campaign against Richmond, forty 
years ago, lies Claremont village ; of modern 
structure, but bearing the name of all of that 
section, of which we shall presently speak, for- 
merly noted as the ancestral home of one of the 
most distinguished families of Virginia. In 
earlier days Claremont comprised an area of 
many square miles. 

More than a century and a quarter have 
passed into history since there arrived in this 
country, from his native England, an eccentric 
young bachelor of prepossessing appearance, , 
physically robust, of great energy, large for- 
tune for that day, of classical ability and deter- 
mined ambition. That he was an adventurer 


28 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


to the New World there can be no doubt, but as 
all of his plans were successfully laid he soon 
became one of the most noted characters of the 
Old Dominion. 

Colonel William Allen acquired all of that 
once vast undivided estate which was named 
by himself, Claremont. His broad acreage 
spread out into the tens of thousands ; his 
slaves were numbered by the hundred ; his cat- 
tle roamed in mighty herds ; his fields of grain 
and tobacco appeared before the beholder like an 
endless prairie. From Swan’s Point to Lower 
Brandon the waters of the noble river washed 
the borders of his domain, which extended in- 
land to the shore of the Blackwater. 

Over this vast holding Colonel Allen su- 
premely reigned with a hand as firm as the rock 
of Gibraltar ; with an eye as keen as the native 
eagle ; with a heart as large and as warm as 
that of any which throbbed beneath the waist- 
coat of his fellow-countrymen. 

During his long and popular residence at 
Claremont, Colonel Allen came into possession 
of vast tracts of land lying on the northern bank 
of the James, notably the island of Jamestown, 
famous as being the first permanent English 
settlement in America, and which location is at 
present attracting the attention of all civiliza- 


CLAREMONT AND COLONEL ALLEN. 


29 


tion, in anticipation of the proposed celebration 
to be holden thereon by the English speaking 
people both of the Old and New World in 
nineteen hundred and seven, that being the 
three hundredth anniversary of that early event 
which culminated in the making of this Grand 
Republic, the First Nation on the face of the 
globe. 

Colonel Allen had taken his degree at Oxford 
and was cultivated beyond most of those of his 
associates. By hereditary right his lineage was 
closely associated with that of England’s mon- 
arch. He was a scholar of “ye olden time,” 
affiliating with the best men of the young Re- 
public. He entertained freely the noted men 
and women of earlier days, dined sumptuously 
and attended church regularly, and yet Colonel 
William Allen was a great old sinner, possibly 
awaiting a glorious hereafter. Early in life he 
counted among his boon companions such men 
of prominence as Washington, Adams, Jeffer- 
son, Madison, Monroe and Thomas Paine, be- 
sides innumerable lesser lights, but these grand 
and good men could not restrain him in some 
of his worldly questionable propensities. Truly 
this remarkable Englishman sadly lacked in 
morality. 

Colonel Allen could not be ensnared into a 


30 


gilbert ; or, then and now. 


matrimonial alliance by any of the beautifully 
fascinating belles of his day, although many 
practised their sweetest and most winsome maid- 
enly wiles upon him, in the vain endeavor to 
catch this peculiar genius, who was prone to 
cajole and flatter but never entertained a 
serious thought of matrimony. His hospitable 
and palatial home at Claremont was presided 
over by a sister, who had one son. This boy 
will later appear in these pages as conspicu- 
ously bearing upon the life of Gilbert. 

The reader is not led to infer that Colonel 
Allen was a woman hater. Far from it. He 
would ally himself to none in accordance with 
the lawful social code, but two illegitimates 
claimed the colonel as being their distinguished 
sire, and as he fostered both of these it is to be 
assumed that they were flesh of his flesh, nor is 
it to be denied that one of these, whose name 
was Emanuel, was the offspring of a colored 
mother. 

Over the maternal parents of these children 
let the veil of charitable silence be drawn, but 
as both of the boys, William and Emanuel, are 
closely connected with the thread of this story, 
it is necessary that they be conspicuously men- 
tioned in these pages. Among the many slaves 
of Colonel Allen was John Wooten, this same 


CLAREMONT AND COLONEL ALLEN. 


31 


John being the father of Gilbert. Now Gilbert 
having been born to a free mother would soon 
be at an age when he could roam the wide 
world over, while his father must remain the 
bondsman of Colonel Allen or his assigns. 

In the preceding chapter we left Gilbert to his 
fate, but with a determination not again to visit 
Sussex County during his minority. When Gil- 
bert had traveled a safe distance from success- 
ful pursuit he realized that his plans were 
immature. Really he did not know just what 
course to follow. He had had enough of Peters- 
burg — particularly as he had been so indis- 
creet while in Sussex as to allow the place of 
his refuge to become known. It would not do 
to return, as he would likely be detected and 
arrested. What should he do ? Where go ? 
These two problems sorely and boldly con- 
fronted him. Daylight found him undecided 
when he unexpectedly thought of Claremont, 
of which he had heard so much ; of his father, 
of whom he knew so little. Would Colonel 
Allen allow him to stay there ? Could he see 
his father ? With such thoughts in his mind he 
turned his footsteps in the direction of this great 
estate. 

About this time Colonel Allen was having 
erected a fine large flour mill upon the upper 


32 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


waters of Chipoax creek, under the supervision 
of his illegitimate son, William, who had arrived 
at the age of manhood several years before. 
Of this fact Gilbert learned during the day, and 
at once determined to go to the seat of the 
structure and apply for work. Evening found 
him within the confines of Claremont, and a 
good Samaritan fed and sheltered him for the 
night. 

Early on the following morning he set out 
for the point of his destination, and just as the 
sun rose above the tree tops he had reached the 
site. The mammoth structure in course of erec- 
tion he saw before him, and the many workmen 
actively busy, nigh overawed him, but inquir- 
ing for the superintendent, who was readily 
pointed out to him, he approached and said : 
“ Good morning, sir,” bowing low, while he car- 
ried his cap in his hand. “ Can I find work with 
you, sir?” 

William’s mind was much preoccupied at 
that moment, but something about the boy 
attracted his attention, and he quickly replied, 
“Work? Work, did you say?” And having criti- 
cally looked the boy over continued — “ Why, 
boy, you are almost too young to understand 
the kind of work I am having done, but we 
will see. Can you shovel dirt?” 


CLAREMONT AND COLONEL ALLEN. 


** O, yes, sir,” responded Gilbert.” 

“Ever do any hard work?” 

“ Many a time, sir,” answered Gilbert. 

And then William propounded a question 
which caused the cold chills to creep up the 
boy’s back. 

“Who are you, and where do you come 
from?” 

Gilbert did not really know how to evade 
this inquiry, it coming upon him so suddenly, 
and yet he was loth to tell the superintendent 
whence he came. 

“ I am the son of one of Colonel Allen’s 
men, born of a free mother, who died and left 
me alone. I have been living and working 
about Petersburg lately,” he answered. 

“ What is your father’s name, boy ? ” inquired 
William. 

“John, sir.” 

“You don’t say ? ” quickly came the response. 
“ You may find your father at work on the mill. 
If you are telling me the truth I will give you 
something to do as long as you wish to remain, 
but remember, I cannot employ slave boys who 
have run away from their masters. Come with 
me. We’ll see your father.” And William 
started toward the building, Gilbert following 
him. 


34 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


It had been so many years since Gilbert had 
last seen his father, strange as that fact may 
appear to the reader unfamiliar with the cus- 
toms of the South, that he felt certain he would 
not recognize his parent, but he trusted to his 
father’s recognition of him when he had told 
his name; that of his mother, and where he 
had lived in Sussex. 

“John,” said William, approaching the slave 
father, who had just a moment before touched 
the earth, having been high up among 
the rafters of the great building, “ here is a 
boy who says you are his father. Is it true?” 
John looked at the young man for a few mo- 
ments and replied, “Yes, sir; that is Gilbert. 
He is my boy, sure enough, but it has been a 
long time since I saw him and I did not know 
that I ever would again.” And going up to 
Gilbert he exclaimed : “Howdy, child? Can’t 
you speak to your daddy ? ” Gilbert greeted 
his father warmly, and while shaking his hand 
exclaimed : “ I thought you would know me!” 

John having satisfied the superintendent that 
Gilbert was a free born, at once engaged him 
to work on the structure, nor did the young 
man cease his labors until the mill was com- 
pleted. For a few days the superintendent had 
watched Gilbert closely, but finding his willing- 


CLAREMONT AND COLONEL ALLEN. 


85 


ness and the thoroughness of his work all that 
could be desired, gave himself no further concern 
respecting the new hand, as many of the em- 
ployees termed him. 

Working at his trade as master mechanic was 
Robert Bennett, a highly respected white man. 
It was he who really had the erection of the 
building in hand, and he had kept a close eye 
on young Gilbert in whom he thought he saw 
the making of a man.” “ William,” he one 
day said to the superintendent, “ there is some- 
thing in that Gilbert. Suppose I take charge 
of him? I think he will make an excellent 
mechanic should he receive proper training and 
instruction.” 

^‘Very well, Mr. Bennett. If you wish the 
boy to assist you, I will assign him to your de- 
partment.” The next morning Gilbert had been 
promoted from the position of man-of-all-work 
to that of mechanic’s assistant. 

Time rolled on and none but John knew Gil- 
bert’s secret. William had taken an interest 
in the boy, partly on account of his orphanage, 
partly because his father was a slave to him 
who William recogni’^ed as his father. Robert 
Bennett prized the young man for his steady 
ambition and his aptness. 

During all this time the representatives of 


86 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


Robert Bain had sought in vain to locate the 
runaway and now his minority was about ended. 
Gilbert will have reached his majority in a 
month. He no longer feared detection, know- 
ing full well that his term of apprenticeship 
would be too brief to warrant his being appre- 
hended should he be discovered. The last fin- 
ishing touch had been given the great structure. 
Robert Bennett had done his work well and was 
receiving the congratulations of his friends and 
subordinates. Colonel Allen had personally in- 
spected the handsome and useful building and 
warmly thanked the designer and builder for his 
faithfulness. While in conversation with Mr. 
Bennett, Gilbert appeared and was noticed by 
Colonel Allen, who inquired of Mr Bennett: 

Who is that young man ? ” 

‘‘ That is the brightest and most deserving 
youth of his race I have ever seen,” replied the 
mechanic. “ I think I shall keep an eye on his 
interests hereafter,” he continued. Then Col- 
onel Allen was informed as to all Mr. Bennett 
knew concerning the youth. 

“ What do you propose doing for him ? ” in- 
quired the Colonel. 

“ Take him to Newport News where I have 
a contract to erect a mansion house — that is, 
should I be able to induce him to go with me.” 


CLAREMONT AND COLONEL ALLEN. 


37 


“Very good. I will not interfere with your 
arrangements, but should he at any time leave 
you send him to me, I will look out for him.” 

The subject of this dialogue had passed from 
view and was blissfully ignorant of the conver- 
sation, or of what was in store for him. When 
Colonel Allen had parted with Mr. Bennett, 
the latter sent for Gilbert and said to him : 
“ Our work here is completed and I expect to 
leave the day after to-morrow. What are your 
plans ? Have you any ? ” 

“ No, sir,” was the reply. “ I had been think- 
ing of asking you for other work.” 

“ That suits me well. I think I can find other 
work for you. How would you like to come 
with me and learn the carpenter’s trade ? ” 

“ Indeed, sir, I would be glad to do so,” said 
Gilbert. 

“ Very well, I will take you on one condi- 
tion.” 

“And what is that, sir?” inquired the young 
man. 

“That you will remain with me until you 
have mastered the art,” smilingly replied Mr. 
Bennett 

“ I do not exactly understand you, sir, but 
I suppose you mean until I know the business.” 

“Just so.” 


88 


Gilbert ; or, then and now. 


It was then agreed between the two that Gil- 
bert would remain in Mr. Bennett’s service for 
three years. Two days after the above con- 
versation Gilbert left the shores of the upper 
James River and landed at its mouth for the first 
time. He had never once, during the twenty- 
one years of his existence breathed the ozone of 
salt water nor beheld the “deep, blue sea.” It 
was with awe and admiration that he gazed 
across the green waters of Hampton Roads upon 
that endless sheet — the Atlantic Ocean. 

At the time Mechanic Bennett contracted to 
erect the dwelling at Newport News, there was 
not a solitary building located there. Hence it 
will be observed that Gilbert Wooten assisted in 
laying the first sill ever fashioned for a house 
where a modern city of fifty thousand souls 
now reside. We shall hurriedly pass over 
the next three years of Gilbert’s career. He 
became a steady man and good mechanic and 
at the expiration of his term had not only 
mastered his trade but had saved much of his 
earnings. During all of his stay with Robert 
Bennett he had never whispered a word to him 
regarding his Sussex escapade, but now that he 
was in a position to go out into the world on his 
own account he decided to unbosom himself to 
the man who had so materially aided him and 


CLAREMONT AND COLONEL ALLEN. 


89 


tell to him the whole story. Mr. Bennett lis- 
tened with amazement to Gilbert’s recital, with 
which the reader is familiar, and when he had 
concluded Mr. Bennett laughingly exclaimed : 
“ You black rascal I ” 

A short time after Gilbert returned to Clare- 
mont, where we leave him while we introduce 
several other characters who had a great in- 
fluence later over his life. 


CHAPTER IV. 


GILBERT WEDS. 


S has been intimated in an earlier chapter 



r\ Colonel Allen’s sister — the lady Organ — 
had a son. This boy had been christened 
William in honor of his uncle. The widow 
Organ possessed but little of this world’s goods 
by comparison with those of her bachelor 
brother, but she had long before the events nar- 
rated in this chapter been assured by her eccen- 
tric kinsman that her son should some day come 
into possession of the bulk of all of his prop- 
erty. Therefore this lady had lived a life of easy 
contentment, keeping the even tenor of her way. 
She had ever ministered to the personal com- 
forts of the colonel, and in turn he fairly wor- 
shipped this gentle sister. It is not strange, 
therefore, that he had provided for her offspring 
— his nephew. This child had grown to man- 
hood and was of noble bearing, amiable dis- 
position and tender feeling. He had reaped the 
advantages of a classical and practical business 
education, all of which had been bestowed on 
him by this shrewd relative who realized how 


GILBERT WEDS. 


41 


invaluable both would be to his heir in his new 
surroundings. 

Colonel Allen had executed and sealed his 
last will and testament years before, but only 
himself and his legal adviser knew the contents 
of that precious document. 

Time, the destroyer of all things animate and 
inanimate, had for years been gradually laying 
its heavy hand upon the shoulders of Colonel 
Allen, and now, an old man, covered with the 
honors of this world as looked at from a finan- 
cial standpoint, he was likely to pay the debt of 
nature at any time. Only a few months elapsed 
after Gilbert had left for Newport News before 
all of those of Tidewater, Virginia, had been 
apprised of the death of Colonel Allen, the 
wealthiest man in the State, and many were the 
curious who listened with expectancy to learn 
what disposition he had made of his vast pos- 
sessions. 

In due season the last rites were performed 
over the body of this worldly great man, and it 
was consigned to its last resting-place in the 
tomb, prepared for its reception, on the banks 
of the beautiful river, beneath the shade of the 
evergreen trees about his magnificent home- 
stead. 

When all had turned their backs upon all that 


42 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


was mortal of the millionaire and his mansion 
had been reached his will was read to the com- 
pany of distinguished persons assembled, who 
had attended his obsequies, while his vast army 
of slaves lingered about the manor house, 
anxious to learn their fate. 

I give, bequeath and devise to my be- 
loved nephew, William Organ, all of my real 
and personal estate, goods and chattels, during 
his natural life, and then to his heirs forever ; 
provided, nevertheless, that he change his name 
from that of his father to Allen, that my memory 
may be perpetuated through him and his chil- 
dren, except such legacies as I may hereinafter 
mention.” * * * At the earliest opportunity 
William Organ had complied with the terms of 
his uncle’s will, and became known thereafter 
as William Allen. 

The estate he had thus come into possession 
of amounted to millions of dollars, his real 
holdings approximating one hundred thousand 
acres of the finest lowlands of Virginia. He 
had at once taken possession of the estate and 
began to conduct its management in person. 

The legacies of importance left by Colonel 
Allen were two. The one to his illegitimate 
son, William, and the other to Emanuel. Both 
had been suitably and amply remembered by 


GILBERT WEDS. 


43 


the man whom they recognized as being their 
father. It being contrary to the laws of the 
Virginian Commonwealth, a delicate question 
arose concerning a part of the bequest to 
Emanuel. A number of slaves had been given 
with his portion, although it was contrary to 
the statute for colored persons to hold property 
of that nature within the borders of the State. 
A compromise was effected, however, Emanuel 
entering into possession of his legacy, living 
long upon his plantation, known as Goodmans, 
respecting and respected by all about him. 
William, the other son, also lived to enjoy the 
blessings so thoughtfully bestowed upon him 
by this provident hand, and died at a ripe old 
age surrounded by a family whose descendants 
are living at this day. 

When Gilbert returned from Newport News 
to Claremont he found many changes had been 
made by the new master, and that many more 
were in contemplation. He had been upon 
the estate but a day or two, however, when 
he was sent for by Emanuel, who was just 
then thinking of making large improvements 
in the buildings about Goodmans, and he, 
knowing of Gilbert’s capabilities, while doubt- 
less entertaining a fellow-feeling for him, 
desired that Gilbert should direct the work. 


44 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


For one year Gilbert remained in the employ 
of Emanuel, erecting new and remodeling all 
of the fine buildings upon that valuable prop- 
erty, and at the expiration of that time returned 
to Claremont, where, as the reader will discover, 
as his career is unfolded, he made his perma- 
nent home. 

Gilbert was now twenty-five years old. He 
had made an indefinite contract with the new 
master and at once entered upon the duties of 
supervising all of the building improvements 
upon the Claremont estate as well as such as 
lay on the northern bank of the James, or as it 
is more familiarly termed “On the peninsula.’’ 
William Allen had been very liberal in his agree- 
ment with the young mechanic and, as he often 
expressed it, “ wished to see to what elevation 
an honest and intelligent black man could 
reach.” 

Not long after Gilbert had been installed as 
foreman over the crew of twenty carpenters and 
general utility men on the Claremont estate, he 
became enamored of a handsome slave girl 
belonging to the master of Claremont. 

Mary was, indeed, an attractive maiden, who 
had just reached the age of sixteen years. Gil- 
bert saw the barrier lying between himself and 
this winsome slave girl. He recalled the fact 


GILBERT WEDS. 


46 


that his own father had gone to his final rest 
with the chains of bondage about him and he 
shuddered at the thought that peradventure his 
wife, should he make Mary such, must all of her 
days bow to the decree of another higher than 
himself, but he loved this girl sincerely — 
devotedly — and was prone to marrying her, 
though time might sever the union in a cruel 
and unnatural fashion. Mary seemed to 
as ardently return the love which Gilbert had 
often whispered in her ear when the duties of 
the day had been performed, and they met by 
the river bank beneath the shadow of the trees, 
or at the quarters assigned to all of the upper 
servants of this splendid homestead. 

While Gilbert was making love to this young 
and comely mistress of his affections, William 
Allen was likewise paying court to a beautiful 
Canadian, a resident of Montreal, and when the 
master had wedded his lady fair and brought 
her to Claremont, Mary was selected to become 
her chief handmaid. This was, indeed, an 
honor. The girl of his heart made the confiden- 
tial servant in the domestic circle of one of the 
leading and wealthiest ladies of Virginia. 
Gilbert’s heart leaped with joy and pride. He 
felt confident that William Allen would not part 
with her whom his wife had chosen to be her 


46 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


handmaid, and his mind was made up. He 
would ask permission of her master that he 
might take her to be his wife. An opportunity 
presenting itself he made his desire known to 
the “ lord of the manor.” 

“ Gilbert,” said Mr. Allen, “ are you aware 
of what you are asking ? Have you considered 
that, should you marry Mary, any children 
born to you and herself would be my property ?” 

“ I have, sir, but I am sure, should such be 
the case, that you would not part with them but 
treat them as kindly as your uncle always treated 
my father.” 

“ Very well, then. Should yourself and Mary 
agree to wed you have my permission and may 
you live happily together. When you marry I 
shall take pleasure in providing you suitable 
quarters, consistent with the duty your wife will 
always owe to her mistress.” 

So Gilbert, at the age of twenty-six, married 
Mary, aged sixteen, and met with sincere con- 
gratulations from both the master and mistress 
of Claremont. 

A year later Mrs. Allen presented her husband 
with an heir and shortly thereafter Mary became 
a mother also. She not only tenderly cared for 
her own child but as first nurse looked after that 
of her mistress. Strong became the attach- 


GILBERT WEDS. 


47 


ment between this lady and her servant, and as 
children were born to both in rapid succession 
a bond of sympathy was drawn about them 
which ended only with their lives. Gilbert 
remained at Claremont through all of the years 
from the date mentioned until the great Civil 
War disturbed the domestic relations of so many 
happy homes of the Old Dominion, but of this 
the reader will be informed in a future chapter. 

Mr. Allen had always found in his foreman 
the strictest integrity and had come to place the 
greatest confidence in him. Different from most 
men of his race, Gilbert did not have to be told 
that which was expected of him. He possessed 
a ready eye and saw at a glance what was 
required. The many tenements scattered near 
and far were kept in repair under his supervision, 
and all new buildings were erected by him and 
those over whom he had authority. Gilbert 
had saved much of his early earnings and was 
becoming a capitalist of no mean account. 

“I have a little extra money,” he one day 
remarked to Mr. Allen. “What can I do with 
it, sir?” 

“I do not wish to advise, but to invest it at 
good interest, well secured by real estate, would 
be safe,” responded that gentleman; and Gilbert 
at once heeded the suggestion. 


48 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


“ I shall do so, sir ; and I know of no act 
which would do me greater honor than to 
ask you to take it,” replied this naturally 
shrewd colored man. 

“I do not need it, and it would be the height 
of folly for me to borrow money and pledge my 
lands for its repayment,” replied the land- 
owner with a pleasant smile. 

“True, sir,” replied Gilbert. “You know, 
however, that I do not expect security from 
you. Just take the money and give me some- 
thing to show for it, and pay what interest you 
please.” 

Mr. Allen did not wish to accept the funds, 
but, thinking his trusted foreman might fall into 
the hands of some one who might defraud him 
of his hard-earned cash, consented to do so. 
Gilbert shortly thereafter placed in his keeping 
five hundred dollars, gold coin, receiving a note 
of hand for the same bearing interest at six per 
centum. 

Truth occasionally appears stranger than 
fiction. There are instances of it attending 
the relations existing between this aristocratic 
scion of the autocratic millionaire. Colonel Allen, 
and the family of the nephew and Gilbert — the off- 
spring waif of one of his uncle’s slaves — which 
will bear reciting as an evidence of the mutual 


GILBERT WEDS. 


49 


feeling existing between the master of fifty 
years ago and his trusted blacks or other 
negroes with whom he had dealings. It was 
not considered improper nor contaminating for 
the children of this master to be nurtured from 
the breasts of the wife of Gilbert, nor did the 
acceptance of the proffered gold in any way 
detract from the social standing of Mr. Allen in 
the eyes of his most intimate business associ- 
ates nor dearest friends. Why, then, let it be 
inquired, should a white man of this day and 
generation deem it a degradation should one of 
his race move on friendly terms with a black 
man or take him into his confidence ? 

Are the latter day saints (?) — the scions of 
slave owners — superior to those splendid Vir- 
ginia gentlemen now passed and gone ? May 
a stream reasonably be expected to rise above 
the level of its source, unless some abnormal 
impediment block its even tenor ? Should there 
exist such an obstacle ? Will some unprejudiced, 
fair-minded critic of these pages enlighten those 
who grovel in darkness seeking to find it ? But 
this digression from the thread of this narrative 
is nigh unpardonable when viewed from the 
standpoint of the earnest reader anxious to fol- 
low the career of the chief character herein 
depicted. 


60 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


Before closing this chapter we wish to again 
remind the reader that Gilbert had never learned 
the alphabet. His natural ability was remarka- 
ble, nevertheless. From association, he had 
not only acquired the art of properly express- 
ing himself, but had mastered measurements 
and such other practical attainments as were 
vital to his success. 


CHAPTER V. 

A TRYING HOUR. 

HE dawn of the year eighteen hundred 



1 and fifty-nine found peace and contented 
prosperity among the many souls at Claremont. 
Plans were being inaugurated by the master, 
and heads of subordinate positions, for the un- 
disturbed and successful labors of the new year 
before the army of bondsmen on this great 
plantation when, without warning, threats, or 
premonition, the air about the homes of all Vir- 
ginia became suddenly filled with vague rumors, 
which greatly agitated the peaceful inhabitants 
of the mother of Commonwealths. Over the 
telegraph wire word had been flashed through- 
out the State that one John Brown had 
descended, like a thief in the night, upon and 
captured Harper’s Ferry, the little village lying 
upon the south bank of the Potomac ; that an 
insurrection of all the slaves, from the mountain 
peaks to the shore of the sea, was imminent, and 
that the masters and their families were in great 
danger of possible rapine, if not even death. 
When these reports of this misguided fanatic 


62 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW, 


had been confirmed, William Allen, the owner 
of thousands of slaves, sent for Gilbert. He 
was confident that, from Gilbert’s association 
with so many of the leading bondsmen on the 
manor plantation and other sections of the 
estate, if his slaves had any idea of creating 
trouble Gilbert knew it, and that his influence 
for good or evil was no inconsiderable factor in 
such a dire emergency. 

For an hour or more William Allen impa- 
tiently and anxiously awaited the coming of his 
colored superintendent, who had been unavoid- 
ably detained from sooner responding to his 
call. This master of thousands of his fellow 
creatures, received Gilbert in his library, where 
the former invariably conversed with any with 
whom he had particularly important business, 
of a confidential nature. Hence, none will be 
surprised to find this black ushered into the 
seclusive apartment of the millionaire. Having 
been summoned at dead of night to the private 
apartment of his employer much surprised Gil- 
bert. He felt that something of extreme import- 
ance was at hand, but what, puzzled him. He 
was confident that nothing pertaining to his 
native affairs was to be discussed. 

Awaiting the entrance of Mr. Allen stood the 
superintendent, communing with his own 


A TRYING HOUR. 


63 


thoughts, when noiselessly the private door 
leading to the room swung upon its hinges and 
the master entered. “ Be seated, Gilbert,’' he 
said, and, drawing his heavy gold watch from 
his pocket, observed, “ It is just midnight.” 
And continued : “ I have sent for you, Gilbert, 
on a matter of great and grave concern. I wish 
to speak plainly and to be answered as unequiv- 
ocatively as you would about any of the busi- 
ness affairs of the estate. You realize what 
confidence I have for years placed in your in- 
tegrity without my having to remind you of it.” 

“Yes, sir,” responded Gilbert, who awaited 
breathlessly to hear what might follow, as he 
knew no reason why his employer should send 
for him, nor could he fancy the motive. True, 
he had learned of the trouble at Harper’s Ferry, 
and of the threats and grumbling among the 
slaves, but he was not aware that Mr. Allen 
had any intimation that he possessed this 
knowledge, and hence did not entertain, for an 
instant, a suspicion that he was to be consulted 
on that subject, especially as the planters were 
very reticent regarding it in the presence of any 
of their slaves, or other colored employees. 

“You have heard of the trouble at Harper’s 
Ferry, have you not ? ” inquired Mr. Allen, look- 
ing straight in the eye of Gilbert. 


54 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


“Yes, sir, I have,” he replied. 

“What do you think of it?” was the next 
cautious inquiry. “ I know but little about it, 
sir, and as I do not understand it thoroughly I 
can’t say I have given the matter very much 
attention. I would like very much to learn the 
whole truth concerning it and shall thank you 
to fully enlighten me.” 

William Allen narrated what had transpired, 
and concluded by asking Gilbert if he had heard 
any of the blacks speak of the matter. 

“You ask me for the truth, sir, and I shall 
place the same confidence in you that you 
always placed in me, and speak it plainly.” 

“That is just what I wish you to do, Gil- 
bert.” 

“ Yes, sir, I have heard many of them discuss 
the matter.” 

“And what do they say?” queried Mr. Allen. 

“There seems to be a belief among them 
that, if John Brown could succeed in capturing 
Harper’s Ferry with so few men, a general 
uprising among them might overawe their 
masters and insure to them their freedom, but 
I have advised all with whom I have talked 
against it.” 

“ I am pleased to learn that,” exclaimed Mr. 
Allen. 


A TRYING HOUR. 


56 


“Yes, sir; I have called their attention to 
several things they had not thought of. I re- 
minded them that Brown had been captured by 
the United States army and turned over to the 
State to be punished ; and that, should they rise 
against the whites, the National forces would 
shoot them down without mercy.” 

“ Very true,” replied Mr. Allen. 

“ I asked what they would do in their help- 
less condition, should they overpower their 
masters, even though they murdered families 
and burned houses.” 

“And what answer did you receive?” 

“ They did not know. They had no plans of 
any kind, and when I pointed out the folly of at- 
tempting such a thing, seemed convinced that 
I was right ; any way, all of them have quieted 
down and do not speak of the matter now.” 

“ I am grateful to you, Gilbert, for the words 
you have spoken. I should deeply regret it if 
my people got into any trouble or gave me or 
my family annoyance. Of course, you know, 
while they might do serious mischief for a few 
days, that in the end they would suffer much.” 

“ Certainly I do, sir,” was Gilbert’s earnest 
reply. 

“ Let me convince you of one thing, how- 
ever,” he continued. “ Come what may, not 


66 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


one hair of your head or of the missus and chil- 
dren shall be hurt if I can prevent it. Should 
any of the men become headstrong, and if there 
seems any prospect of danger, I shall warn you 
at once.’^ 

** I believe you will, and I shall depend upon 
you, Gilbert,” was the sincere response of his 
employer. 

For no little length of time these two dis- 
cussed the situation in all of its bearings — this 
highly esteemed and most distinguished aris- 
tocratic Virginia gentleman, and the black 
man who, but a few years before, had been a 
foundling without a home, not even that of a 
slave master. 

Neither the honor, dignity nor social position 
of Mr. Allen was in any degree contaminated 
by having put himself upon a social level with 
this less fortunate man with a black skin, in 
consulting him upon matters of vital import- 
ance, but, on the contrary, he had received evi- 
dences of friendship important for his own 
peace and the safety of his family. Gilbert had 
been born as free as had this millionaire. 
Neither was reponsible for the position in life 
which greeted their advent into this world. 
Both had grown from childhood to the age of 
maturity, occupying their respective spheres. 


A TRYING HOUR. 


67 


Each had respect for the surroundings of the 
other. The one had a fortune thrust upon him, 
the other was struggling to earn a competence 
whereby he might the more readily achieve 
business success. Did the difference in the 
complexion of the skin change the pulsations 
of the heart? True, the one possessed educa- 
tional advantages the other might never attain, 
but certainly this misfortune did not detract 
from the honesty of purpose nor mar the lofty 
ambition which was uppermost in the mind of 
the negro — to prove that his intention and most 
laudable purpose was to reach a plane from 
which he might be seen and respected by all 
men. 

William Allen knew this was the praiseworthy 
aim of Gilbert, and he was broad and generous 
enough to take this deserving man into his con- 
fidence and treat him with that respect which 
his character deserved. Honor be to the mem- 
ory of the man who arose above a narrow 
prejudice, soaring far beyond the plebeianistic 
dogmas of the present day I 

Gilbert left the presence of his employer and 
returned to his own quarters, while the master 
repaired to his couch and slept in peace and 
security. Mary, who had been aroused at the 
time Gilbert was summoned to the presence 


58 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


of her owner, was anxiously awaiting" his com- 
ing with the deepest interest. Gilbert entered 
his quarters thinking to find his wife asleep, 
but was surprised to be greeted by her with 
the suppressed inquiry : “What is it, Gilbert? 
Is master in trouble, or has anything gone 
wrong with you?” 

“No, wife; there is nothing wrong with me, 
nor is your master in any trouble of his own 
making, but he is disturbed in his mind over 
that matter which everybody, white and black, 
bond and free, is interested in. He sent for 
me to talk the matter over. It is needless to 
remind you,” he continued, “that what I say 
to you must go no further. Did I suspect you 
would repeat what I have told you, or what I 
may speak of, I would not even mention it to 
you.” 

“You know, Gilbert, whatever you say to me 
will be kept secret. I suppose master has been 
talking about the trouble at Harper’s Ferry. 
Well, to tell the truth, I have not taken in- 
terest enough in it to think about it, much more 
talk about what you and master may have said. 
The Lord knows I have no desire to leave Clare- 
mont. If I did, haven’t I had the chance ? 
Didn’t I go to Canada with missus, and didn’t 
master tell me when I crossed the border that I 


A TRYING HOUR. 


69 


was as free as he and that if I wished to re- 
main free I could stay in Canada ? ” 

“ So he did, Mary,” replied Gilbert. 

‘‘ What was my answer ? ” she went on to 
say. “ That I could not think of any such a 
thing. What would become of us and the chil- 
dren were we all set free at this very hour ? 
Where would we go? No, I shall never leave 
my owners, who are so good and kind to me 
and mine, if every other black at Claremont 
goes. What is more, if I hear of any plot to do 
mischief I shan’t be the one who will hold my 
tongue.” 

Gilbert listened to the excitedly earnest 
words of his wife with both surprise and admi- 
ration — surprise that she should show so little 
sympathy for the movement which might result 
in some possible way in the emancipation of the 
bondsmen ; admiration for the courage which 
he well knew she would display in carrying out 
her words. “You are right, Mary, in standing 
by the master and his family. True, I should 
like to see yourself and our children — all of our 
race, for that matter — free and independent, but 
I hope never to see the day that freedom is 
gained by dishonorable methods, through 
bloodshed and disgrace. What a sorry plight 
all of us would be in, should the blacks rise 


60 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


against their masters? The military would 
hunt them down and slaughter them like sheep, 
while those who escaped would either starve or 
finally be recaptured and suffer greatly for their 
folly. But the white folks fear trouble and have 
made arrangements to meet it. Your master 
sent for me for a particular purpose, and I do 
not wish any of the blacks to know it’’ 

“ They will never know of it from me,” she 
exclaimed. 

“ I am certain of that Should you ever hear 
any of the housemaids say anything let me 
know of it Your master is too good a friend 
to Gilbert for him to see a hair of his head in- 
jured; but it will soon be morning, and I must 
get a little rest that I may be wide awake at 
daylight.” 

These two black people, man and wife, 
bond and free, were as loyal to the interest, the 
welfare and happiness of William Allen as 
though they had been bound by the closest 
kindred ties, nor could any inducement have 
been offered which would have tempted 
either to betray the trust imposed, nor shake 
the loyalty they had espoused. It seems almost 
paradoxical to see such conditions in actual life. 
Nevertheless, such instances were not rare at the 
time of which we write. From the days of the 


A TRYING HOUR. 


61 


ancients to the present hour, among the most en- 
lightened races of civilization, ingratitude and 
the betrayal of sacred trusts and confidence is 
often seen, but never has there been recorded 
a single instance in which an American negro 
was known to betray his master nor his inter- 
ests when once he had avowed to defend either. 
That Gilbert was a member of his race naturally 
superior to the many, and that his association 
from childhood had been more or less under 
the guidance of white people, who may have 
had much to do with the moulding of that 
force of character which placed him pre-emi- 
nently above those of his race about him, may 
not be denied ; but, had not the germs of a lofty 
nature been an integral part of his natural 
existence, his weaknesses would have in some 
form cropped out. It is not intended for the 
reader to suppose that we are holding this 
character up above fault or weakness. “To err 
is human.” But let it be understood that, so far 
as his intentions were concerned, he was as free 
from fault as any man in the commonwealth. 

The day following the night Gilbert had been 
sent for by William Allen, a great surprise 
greeted him, coming from a source he little 
dreamed of. A secret summons was received 
from the leading slaves on the adjoining estate 


62 


gilbert; or, then and now. 


— Brandon — inviting him to meet with them and 
many others clandestinely, at a point named, 
the following night, to discuss the better plans 
of an insurrection along the borders of the 
river, which was in contemplation, the chief in- 
stigator of which was a renegade white man. 
When Gilbert received this message his first 
impulse was to inform William Allen of the 
contemplated meeting, but he reconsidered this 
determination and consented to meet with 
those who had invited him. 

The evening appointed for the meeting ar- 
rived. Gilbert had not whispered this secret to 
a soul, but his mind had been active and his 
well-laid intentions were complete. After night- 
fall he made a casual excuse to Mary, and, 
leaving his quarters, walked briskly down to 
the shore of Chipoax Creek, where, entering his 
boat, he rowed noiselessly from the shore, the 
bow of the skiff pointing to the designated place 
of meeting on the opposite side. He had been 
supplied with a countersign, which would safely 
conduct him to the chosen spot. When his 
light craft touched the shore he was challenged 
by the sentinel who had been placed at the 
point frequented by those who visited Brandon 
by that route. Entering the midst of those 
assembled he was much surprised to see some 


A TRYING HOUR. 


63 


among the great number whom he would not 
have believed would entertain the idea of insur- 
rection for a moment, but he suppressed his 
astonishment and awaited the action of the 
leaders. 

At that meeting, which was fraught with 
such momentous consequences, were trusted 
upper servants from all the great plantations on 
both sides of the James River — from the Appo- 
mattox to the Chickahominy — among them 
being slaves of an ex-President of the United 
States, all seeming intent on rebellion. When 
the last man expected had arrived it was just 
midnight, the weird surroundings being in 
striking contrast to the bright light of the huge 
bonfires which lit up the hillsides of this secluded 
valley. 

The renegade called the dusky assembly 
to order, and, having harangued his hearers 
until he had filled them with feverish excite- 
ment, announced that he was ready to hear 
any propositions any one present wished to 
make. Many crude and bloodthirsty remarks 
were indulged in by different speakers. Some 
would simply defy the further authority of 
their masters ; others thought that by the 
torch, the bludgeon, and such like instruments 
of torture, the masters might be induced to 


64 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


grant them their freedom. All seemed bent on 
rising against their owners at all hazards, while 
none discussed the result of the course they all 
wished to take. 

All of this time Gilbert had stood as motion- 
less as a pillar of stone. He had been an 
intent listener, but not a syllable had escaped 
his lips. Now, however, an opportunity pre- 
sented itself. He was invited to express his 
own, and the views of the great army of slaves 
at Claremont plantation, it being intimated to 
him that much depended upon the assistance 
expected from that quarter. When the rene- 
gade had concluded, Gilbert said : 

GILBERT’S SPEECH. 

“I am asked to express my own and the 
views of the many men and women of my race 
who reside at Claremont. This I cannot do. 
I know little of the sentiment among the slaves 
of William Allen. So far as I am personally 
concerned, however, I am opposed to the ideas 
I have heard advanced here to-night.” 

“Traitor!” exclaimed several excited voices. 

“ I hope you will hear me through before pass- 
ing judgment on me or what I may say. I am 
here because I have been requested to be present, 
and I am glad I came because I hope and pray 



VAI^I^EY GEORGE. 






« 


A 


I 


.1 







0 


4 





« . . 

■ ♦ 


• • ^ 


t 


• . 




K. I 

4 * *.. 

I *. 





■ • 4 ". 



t 



-4 ^ 




4 





1 


sLi 


t 


• • 


A 


I 


t- 


« 


.4 






** 

•Vrf 


.-.ft ' 

-• ^ ‘f*? •• 

: . 

•**' : i} ■ 


X • 




\ 


» 





( 





» • 


k..! 


f 


♦ 


I 


f 



t 

it 


A TRYING HOUR. 


65 


that I may be of some service in protecting 
my fellow-countrymen from the great danger 
of destruction they seem ignorantly anxious to 
bring upon themselves. Who is John Brown, 
and what has he done towards setting you 
free ? Nothing. This night he is locked within 
a dungeon cell, shackled more heavily than 
any of you have ever been, unable to help 
himself, much less you. An armed guard of 
soldiers stands ready to shoot him down should 
he attempt to escape, and fifty thousand mas- 
ters with guns and rifles are standing ready 
to shoot down like dogs any of you who 
rebel against their authority. Where are your 
weapons with which to defend yourselves 
against the murderous fire of the instruments 
of death with which your masters and all other 
white men in the State are armed ? No, friends ; 
your plans are poorly laid and ill advised. 
Understand me, I desire as much as any 
black man present to see every slave set at 
liberty, but not until the conscience of the white 
race lashes it into doing its duty by you will 
the hour of that liberation come. The masters 
you serve to day are no more responsible for 
slavery than they are for owning the land or 
cattle thereon, inherited from their fathers, and 
to think of murdering these or destroying their 


66 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


homes is beyond the bounds of reason. By 
doing violence to your owners you but seal 
your own doom and entail sorrow and suffering 
on your own race. Wait ! Wait patiently and 
labor for the hand that has fed and clothed you 
these many years a little while longer, and in 
the end you may find that reward which you 
seek, without spilling the blood of a white man or 
seeing your own flow like water. My advice 
is that you all return to your homes and fami- 
lies at once, forgetting the day that such ideas 
as have here been expressed ever dawned. 
Your meeting is a secret one ; let it ever be 
kept so. For should it become known that you 
had taken part in it, God pity you. I suggest 
that we adjourn and have no more to do with 
this dangerous business, but pray the Almighty 
to hasten the day of our liberation according to 
His will.’’ 

Gilbert ceased speaking and a mighty silence 
fell over his hearers. For a few moments not 
a word was spoken. Then the renegade found 
his tongue and said, “You have heard the re- 
marks of Gilbert; shall we adjourn? ’’ And, with 
one voice, a positive “Yes’’ was the response. 
In less than a minute that meeting place had 
been deserted, nor was there another meeting 
ever called in the James river section of Virginia 


A TRYING HOUR. 


67 


during that trying ordeal. Gilbert returned to 
Claremont, reaching his fireside just as the stars 
began to fade. He had done his duty, as he 
saw it, manfully; had been true to the promise he 
had made Mr. Allen, and possibly averted one 
of the most appalling massacres, which would, 
in all probability, have blackened the pages of 
Virginia’s history indelibly. Not one whisper 
relative to this crisis ever escaped the lips of 
Gilbert He kept alert, however, that he might 
be enabled to scent danger from afar should 
any arise. Among the historical annals of John 
Brown’s raid and the final execution of Brown, 
not one word is to be found regarding this 
meeting on the famous estate of the aristocratic 
Harrison family, so secretly had it been holden, 
and yet, while the master slept in fancied se- 
curity, some of his most trusted blacks were 
plotting his downfall but a comparatively short 
distance from his threshold. 

Honor be awarded him to whom honor 
belongeth. The saviour from this impending 
calamity, which might have crimsoned the tribu- 
tary waters of the beautiful river with the life 
blood of hundreds of the noble women and 
innocent babes of the whites and laid their 
homesteads desolate, was Gilbert, the black 
child waif, the apprenticed youth, the respected 


68 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


mechanic of the millionaire master of so many 
slaves, while a white man had led in the coun- 
cils of the untutored, ignorant bondsmen, 
inciting them by his presence to break the 
laws of God and his country. 

The influence which Gilbert wielded over the 
blacks in the vicinity of Claremont, as was evi- 
denced by the fact that he had convinced them 
in his remarks of the utter hopelessness of such 
an uprising as that contemplated, despite the 
efforts of the white renegade, who had for weeks 
previously been holding secret conclaves in 
remote places with the slaves from all the sur- 
rounding plantations, no doubt prevented blood- 
shed, for at that time the blacks were so inflamed 
with the idea of freedom — though many of 
them scarcely knew the meaning of the word — 
that they were willing to follow almost any 
leader who expressed sympathy with their con- 
dition, and in this way unscrupulous whites, 
whose ulterior motives could not be discerned 
by the untutored slaves, were enabled to gain 
an influence over the ignorant, and engage 
them in undertakings which could only result 
in their being imprisoned or executed by the 
authorities of the State. 

William Allen, therefore, never knew the 
debt of gratitude he owed Gilbert for his per- 


A TRYING HOUR. 


69 


suasiveness on this occasion, for, had the meet- 
ing decided in favor of an uprising, the hand- 
some mansion at Claremont would have been 
one of the first to be razed to the ground, and 
the torch would probably have been applied to 
every building of any consequence on the plan- 
tation before help could arrive to prevent their 
destruction. 


CHAPTER VI. 


A FATAL STEP. 


HE John Brown raid had borne its fruits. 



1 The great struggle between the political 
factions of North and South had culminated in 
the choice of Abraham Lincoln ; the dissatisfied 
South had rushed, heedless of consequences, 
into the vortex yawning to engulf it. War had 
been declared and mighty armies marshaled 
and arrayed in opposition to each other. Tens 
of thousands of happy homes in every section 
of the divided Republic had supplied one or 
more of its cherished sons to do battle for the 
cause they had espoused. Even the blacks of 
the South seemed to be filled with the grim 
fever of excitement which pervaded the land, 
and had in many instances applied for permis- 
sion to follow the destiny of their masters. 

The advance of the Union forces up the 
James river had been checked, and that mag- 
nificent phalanx under the leadership of Gen- 
eral McClellan had abandoned the Peninsula 
and returned to the confines of the National 
Capital City. From Fortress Monroe to the 


A FATAL STEP. 


71 


Chickahominy, that once beautiful section of 
rural Virginia, had been left a desolate waste, 
at the mercy of outlaws, contrabands, cut- 
throats and army skulkers. Save the nominal 
garrison in and contiguous to the city of 
Williamsburg, neither Federal nor Confederate 
authority prevailed to keep in subjection the 
unruly, bloodthirsty blacks who had fled from 
their masters and taken possession of the dis- 
trict lying between Chickahominy’s confines 
and Virginia’s early capital. Within this scope 
of territory was the time-honored and magnifi- 
cent plantation known the world over as 
Jamestown, already referred to in a preceding 
chapter. This lovely spot seemingly had be- 
come the Mecca of many slaves, who held high 
carnival thereon, assuming an authority defy- 
ing that of the United States as well as of the 
Southern Confederacy. 

Among these misguided wretches were some 
belonging to William Allen, either residents of 
Claremont or of some one of the plantations 
lying on the peninsula side of the James river. 
An idea seemed to prevail among them that 
they were free, and that the property of their 
former master was at their disposal. Hence 
they had taken full charge of Jamestown Island 
and ruled with the hand of outlawry. No white 


72 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


or black who did not belong to this wicked 
band was allowed upon the island under the 
penalty of death. So severe and cruel, indeed, 
was the decree of this motley gang that for miles 
around and adjacent to the island all paid 
tribute to the thieves, who robbed the defence- 
less widow and orphan without mercy. 

Not far distant from the site of the Colonial 
churchyard — that in which John Rolfe and Po- 
cahontas, the beautiful Indian maiden, rambled 
during their wooing — the Confederates had 
erected a battery early in the spring of i86i, 
but abandoned it the following year, leaving 
behind them great stores of ammunition in 
their hurried flight before the advancing legions 
of the Union. 

Nearly opposite Jamestown, on the south 
bank of the James, which is between two and 
three miles wide at this point, lay the handsome 
country seat of Algernon Graves, a lawyer of 
high repute, the public prosecutor for the 
County of Surrey and a gentleman of enviable 
distinction among his fellow-citizens. Four 
Mile Tree,” the name of this attractive retreat, 
at the outbreak of the Civil War was noted far 
and wide as being one of the most valuable 
estates along the banks of the river. It was 
here that Philip St. George Cooke, a Virginian 


A FATAL STEP. 


73 


of marked political and social prestige, had 
been reared ; here where gatherings of distin- 
guished Southern leaders were wont to confer. 
The hospitality of its owner and the aristocratic 
family connections of its host proved an honor 
to any who were fortunate enough to be invited 
thither. 

Among the close companions of Algernon 
Graves was Sir John Shriver, the uncle of the 
lady of Claremont Manor. Sir John spent 
much of his time with the Allens, though a res- 
ident of Montreal and an English subject. At 
this time Sir John Shriver was a man of middle 
age. He was quiet, unassuming and dignified, 
but fond of good company and adventure. He 
often, when visiting “ Four Mile Tree,” would 
sit for hours with a field glass closely pressed to 
his vision, deeply engaged in watching the 
movements of any whom he might espy mov- 
ing about Jamestown, or any novel sight which 
chanced to attract his gaze while peering over 
the broad stream which divided the south bank 
of the river from the peninsula. It was well 
understood that all military force had evacuated 
Jamestown, yet this daring Englishman had a 
great curiosity and longing desire to visit the 
site of the fort and old colonial churchyard, and 
determined to do so at the first opportunity. 


74 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


“ Graves,” he remarked to his friend, one morn- 
ing after breakfast, “let’s go over to the island 
to-morrow. I think it perfectly safe and, perad- 
venture, we may discover some interesting relics 
of the inglorious retreat of McClellan, or of the 
Southerners in their hasty flight last spring. 
What do you say ? Shall we go ? ” 

“ I don’t mind, John,” replied Algernon 
Graves. “ My little nephew, George, has been 
teasing and coaxing me for a month to take him 
to the fort. He thinks he may find powder and 
lead there — two articles which cannot be had 
for love or money nowadays. Yes, we will go 
over should the day be fair.” 

“Agreed,” responded Sir John. “I shall 
ride over to Claremont this afternoon and make 
all necessary preparation for the trip. Oh I by 
the way, how shall we get onto the island ? ” 
“ There is but one way,” replied Graves, “ and 
that is to be rowed across the river in a yawl. 
Let me think. Two good oarsmen will be all- 
sufficient, but where can we find any who will 
be willing to trust their carcass upon the island ? 
Everybody knows that the roving bands from 
the ‘ Neck of Land ’ visit Jamestown, and but 
few can be tempted to go there.” 

“ I have it,” said Sir John Shriver. “Since my 
nephew, Major Allen, of the Confederate States 


A FATAL STEP. 


75 


Army — don’t it sound funny to speak of him 
as Major — went to the front, his colored super- 
intendent, Gilbert, and one of his assistants, 
named Lyttleton, have had practical charge of 
Claremont. I know Gilbert to be a very reliable 
man, and I think I can prevail on him to go 
along with us and take his helper with him. 
Anyway I will see Gilbert and let you know on 
my return at tea time.” 

Many months prior to the above conversa- 
tion William Allen had accepted a commission 
as major of artillery, and had left Claremont to 
join his battalion, then stationed above Rich- 
mond with the army of Northern Virginia. His 
wife, children and servants, including Mary, Gil- 
bert’s wife, had fled from his home and sought 
refuge in the Capital City of the Confederacy. 
Hundreds of Major Allen’s slaves had fled to 
the Union lines, while hundreds more idly 
roamed from plantation to plantation. Only two 
whites — the first and second housekeeper of 
this once bustling household — other than Sir 
John Shriver dared remain at Claremont. Gil- 
bert had been left in charge by Major Allen and 
remained faithfully at his post. 

When Sir John Shriver reached Claremont 
on the afternoon referred to his first thought was 
of Gilbert, and he at once sought him. 


76 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NO^V. 


“Gilbert!” he exclaimed, “Mr. Graves and 
myself think of going over to Jamestown 
to-morrow morning, and I came to ask that 
yourself .and Lyttleton would accompany us. 
[ am sure you are well acquainted with the river, 
and we feel that you would be the very man to 
take charge of the yawl. What do you say ; 
will you go ?” 

Gilbert stood entranced for a moment, mean- 
time shaking his head gravely. At length he 
said : “Mr. Shriver, what are you thinking 
about? Going to Jamestown!” he exclaimed. 
“ Should we go to the island we may never 
come back again.” 

“ Nonsense, Gilbert, no one is there who 
will molest us. Besides, Mr. Graves and 
myself will be heavily armed. No harm can 
come to us.” 

“You do not seem to realize the risk you run, 
sir, or you would not speak so lightly of the 
trip you think of making. There are many 
desperate and heartless men prowling about on 
the opposite side of the river who would not 
stop at anything — not even murder,” responded 
Gilbert, earnestly. 

“ We are not thinking of molesting them, 
Gilbert, but shall only visit the Fort and nearby 
churchyard, and after a ramble thereabouts 


A FATAL STEP. 


77 


shall return directly to Four Mile Tree. I can- 
not see that your fear of danger is well founded.’’ 

‘‘You should remember, sir, that those who 
are now on the island do not understand your 
motive in landing there. Many of them are sus- 
picious of any man they may happen to see, and 
if they should detect your presence, which in all 
likelihood they will, the good Lord only knows 
what may become of you. Should you insist 
on going, however, I am not the man to back 
down, although something seems to tell me not 
to go to Jamestown Island to-morrow.” 

“ How about Lyttleton ; will he accompany 
us ? ” inquired Sir John, who seemed fearful of 
disappointment in securing the men to row the 
boat. 

“ Lyttleton will go with me to any place I re- 
quest him, sir ; but to tell the truth I don’t feel 
like inviting him to go over the river, believing 
what I do. Suppose you tell him your plans 
and then allow me to explain to him the situa- 
tion as I believe it to be. Should he then con- 
sent to be one of the party, well and good.” 

“ That is a fair proposition, Gilbert. I’ll do 
it. Where is he?” 

“ I will call him, sir,” said Gilbert, going over 
to the “ help’s ” quarter. Soon he returned ac- 
companied by Lyttleton, and Sir John explained 


78 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


to the latter in detail all that which the reader 
knows, and inquired, “ Will you go, Lyttleton?” 

“ If Gilbert is going, I don’t mind,” replied 
Lyttleton. 

Don’t you depend on me, Lyttleton, but 
decide this question for yourself. Should any- 
thing bad come of it I do not wish the respon- 
sibility to rest on my shoulders,” said Gilbert. 

“ All right ; I will run the risk, Mr. Shriver. 
When do we go and vrhere do we start from ? ” 
inquired Lyttleton of this courageous English- 
man. 

“I wish you two to take the major’s yawl 
early to-morrow morning — the sooner the bet- 
ter — and row down the river to Four Mile Tree. 
Get there by breakfast time if you can. Don’t 
stop to eat before you come. You will break- 
fast at the Four Mile Tree. I shall return there 
this evening. Mr. Graves and myself will be 
ready for you on your arrival. Gilbert, I shall 
certainly expect you. Be sure not to back down.” 

“ That is something I never did in my life, 
sir, and I am too old a man to begin now. You 
may depend upon our being there in season,” 
said Gilbert. 

“ I shall look for you.” And, turning away, 
Sir John Shriver entered the mansion, only to 
reappear an hour later, when he mounted his 


A FATAL STBP. 


79 


horse and rode directly to the residence of his 
friend, Algernon Graves. 

The sun was fast sinking in the golden west, 
surrounded by the halo of its own receding 
rays, as Sir John drew rein at the door of his 
friend, where, quickly dismounting, he entered 
the house, exclaiming, as he greeted him : 
“ It is all right, Algernon ! Both Gilbert and 
Lyttleton have promised to accompany us, and 
will arrive here early in the morning with the 
Major’s light yawl.” 

“Very fortunate, indeed ! ” exclaimed Alger- 
non, coming forward to greet Sir John. “I 
shall call my little nephew and instruct him to 
be ready to start early in the morning. I am 
sure it will delight him to learn that his longing 
desire will at last be realized. George ! George ! 
Where are you ? ” 

George Graves was the orphan son of William, 
the brother of Algernon. He was a bright 
little lad of twelve, who, for several years, had 
resided with his uncle, who treated him as 
tenderly as if he had been his own child. 

“ Here I am, uncle,” cried the lad, coming 
into the library. “ What is it ? ” 

“ Get all ready, my son, to go to Jamestown 
early in the morning. Sir John and myself are 
going over, and you are to accompany us.” 


80 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


“Oh, isn’t that fine !” exclaimed little George, 
in the ecstacy of his delight. “ I am sure I 
shall find some lead from which to mould pistol 
bullets. I shall run and tell auntie.” The lad 
left the library filled with pleasant anticipations. 

“ I think it would be advisable to take our 
shot guns along,” remarked Algernon. “They 
might be found useful.” 

“Yes,” responded Sir John. “ Gilbert seems 
to think we might confront trouble over there ” 
(meaning the islands). “ I doubt it ; but it can 
do no harm,” rejoined Algernon. 

After tea the two gentlemen discussed their 
intended trip in detail, and enjoined Mrs. Graves 
to have breakfast served early, and a lunch 
basket well filled. An hour later each sought 
his couch, to dream of the sights he might see 
at Jamestown on the morrow, blissfully ignorant 
of what that morrow might unfold. 

The October sun rose next morning and cast 
its effulgent beams on as perfect a day as one 
could wish for. The mellow air, laden with 
the perfume of the ripening vineyards and 
autumn flowers, added to the buoyancy of ex- 
pectation which filled the breasts of these 
friends, seated around the breakfast board dis- 
coursing on their proposed journey. Gilbert 
and Lyttleton had already touched the beach at 


A FATAL STEP. 


81 


the foot of the garden, and, having secured the 
yawl, ascended the cliff and reported their 
arrival. Mrs. Graves had made provision for 
them, and they, too, were enjoying the tempt- 
ing viands this thoughtful lady had reserved 
for them. All being ready, the party met at 
the boat, and pushed off into the placid waters 
of the James, which seemed to be in unison 
with the surrounding atmosphere. 

Observing the arms which both gentlemen 
bore, Gilbert remarked : “ Maybe it would 

have been better not to have taken any weapons 
along which could not be concealed.” 

‘‘Why so?” inquired Mr. Graves. 

“Well, you see, sir, these people over the 
river might scent trouble should they see guns, 
and, as they have army muskets, might not hesi- 
tate to shoot.” 

“But we do not intend to disturb them,” 
came the quick reply. “ Moreover, we do not 
really expect to see anyone at all.” 

“ I hope we do not,” responded Gilbert, “but 
somehow Fm thinking we shall, and all Fve 
got to say is, I hope I may not be blamed 
should harm come to any of us.” 

“ You certainly will not, Gilbert,” responded 
Sir John. “ I alone am responsible for your 
being with us; Algernon, you will bear that 


82 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


fact in mind.” It will be recalled that Shriver 
was a subject of Great Britian, and as such had 
upon his person his pass, under the seal of that 
sovereignty, guaranteeing to him immunity 
from violence or interference, and granting 
him all the liberties accorded the citizens of one 
country while sojourning in another. “Should 
we be molested,” Sir John continued, “ I can 
readily convince any and all that we mean no 
mischief by exhibiting my passport and claim- 
ing protection for all of our party.” 

“ What do you suppose a runaway nigger 
knows or cares about your papers?” solemnly 
inquired Gilbert, as he dropped his oars and, 
turning, gazed in the direction of the landing 
place, which the boat was rapidly approaching. 
A few minutes later the keel of the yawl grated 
upon the pebbly sand and the party of five 
arose to step upon the shore — fatal step I 


CHAPTER VII. 

MURDER. 

HEN the yawl containing this party of 



V V adventurous sightseers had scarcely 
reached the channel of the river it was ob- 
served by the keen and watchful eyes of more 
than twenty contraband refugees who had taken 
up their quarters at Jamestown. At once the 
alarm was given, and from their secret hiding 
place all had watched the rapid approach of the 
small boat as it bounded over the undulating 
waters of the river. As the yawl approached 
nearer and nearer all eyes were strained to 
more closely discern the number and character 
of its occupants. 

“There are five persons in that boat,” de- 
clared one who seemed to be in authority over 
the others ; “ and it looks to me,” he continued, 
“ as if that craft was from Claremont. I think 
it belongs to William Allen.” 

The speaker-leader was a stalwart black, 
with skin that shone like ebony and with deep- 
set features and a stern countenance. “ There 
are three whites and two blacks in the party,” 


84 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


he said, and if they don’t mind they’ll be my 
meat before long should they land on this 
shore.” Gazing more closely, he exclaimed, 
“Yes, it is just as I thought, and I recognize 
the men. One is Sir John Shriver, another is 
Algernon Graves, a third is a little boy — and, as 
I live, there are Gilbert and Lyttleton.” Turn- 
ing to those about him, the leader said : “ Men, 
something is wrong ! Be ready to stand by and 
follow me !” 

This fiendish and desperately wicked brute 
was none other than one of Major Allen’s slaves, 
who had fled from Claremont a year before and 
crossed over to Jamestown. It is not surprising, 
therefore, that he should have readily recog- 
nized the yawl and its occupants. 

“ It will never do to let those men discover 
our hiding place and leave this island alive,” he 
remarked to the man nearest him. “ In less 
than a week a whole regiment would be on this 
island looking for us as they would rabbits. 
What do you say, men ? See, they are about to 
land, and two of them have guns.” 

“We should wait until they leave the shore, 
and then take the boat. There will be no means 
of escape left them,” replied a bright mulatto 
who had spent all his life as the valet of one of 
the prominent planters of Prince George County. 


MURDER. 


85 


“We will go to them by and by, and see 
what they are up to,” said the first speaker, 
whose name was George Bright, addressing the 
motley crowd of toughs gathered about him. 

Sir John Shriver was the first to land, fol- 
lowed by the others. It was agreed that Gilbert 
should stay by the boat while the others walked 
up to the old churchyard, but a few rods away. 
Both Graves and Shriver had shouldered their 
guns and led the way from the landing to the 
old church. Scarcely had they reached the 
place of their destination when a squad of the 
outlaws approached the shore, and George 
Bright, who knew Gilbert intimately, exclaimed : 

“What are you doing here, Gilbert?” 

“Only sight-seeing,” replied Gilbert, in a 
nonchalant manner. 

“What do Sir John Shriver and Algernon 
Graves want on this island ?” 

“ Nothing ; only looking around,” came the 
response. 

“Well, they have no business here, and they 
must pay for coming,” was the fierce reply of 
George Bright. “Take that yawl around to 
the bridge over the creek” he commanded, 
addressing Gilbert. 

“If you wish this boat taken anywhere you 
will do it yourself,” boldly replied Gilbert. “ I 


86 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


came over in this boat and I expect to return 
in it. Should I fail to do so it will not be my 
fault.’’ 

“ Put him under arrest, and two of you men 
guard him. Don’t let him escape. Should he 
attempt it, shoot him,” commanded George 
Bright. “Now,” he continued, “we shall 
attend to those fellows over yonder,” indicating 
by a wave of his hand the direction which the 
little party of four had taken. 

It will be recalled that these negroes were all 
armed, some with muskets, others with shot- 
guns, and still others with pistols. Leaving 
Gilbert in charge of two of their trusted num- 
ber, the remainder moved off in the direction 
of the churchyard, where they met Shriver, 
Graves, little George and Lyttleton returning 
towards the shore. Up to this moment none 
of the four had seen the outlaw blacks, and 
consequently, knowing nothing of what had 
transpired on the shore, they had no idea 
of trouble or danger. One may therefore 
clearly define the utter astonishment of this 
innocent party on being commanded to halt 
and surrender. A hurried conversation was 
held among them, and then both Graves and 
Sir John advanced and gave up the arms they 
were carrying. 


MURDER. 


87 


“You must go with us’/ commanded the leader. 

“Where to?” inquired Mr. Graves. 

“ ’Round to the bridge,” was the response. 

“We had rather not,” said Sir John Shriver. 
“We only came over the river to look at the old 
church and the fort. We are now ready to 
return.” 

“ Oh, no I ” exclaimed half a dozen voices. 
“You won’t go back to-day, or to-morrow either, 
if we know ourselves,” jeeringly remarked 
George Bright. 

Graves and Shriver, seeing they were so 
greatly outnumbered and that resistance would 
be sheer folly, had hastily and willingly given 
up their guns, being anxious to convince the 
blacks that their presence was one of peace 
only. They hoped by this means to pacify the 
wretches and allay further trouble. 

The quartette were first marched to the land- 
ing place, where Gilbert was held a prisoner. 
Here they were halted and a close surveillance 
kept over them, while George Bright com- 
manded the two guarding Gilbert and the boat 
to enter the yawl and row it around the island 
to the bridge which connected Jamestown with 
the “ Neck of Land ” plantation. 

“Take the oars,” said one of the guard to 
Gilbert. 


88 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


“ Never!” fairly hissed this brave and deter- 
mined man. 

“ Then one of us will,” was the response. 

The more powerful of the two took the oars 
and instructed his confederate to be seated in 
the stern, Gilbert being placed in the bow of the 
boat. Occupying these positions the three men 
were pushed off into the stream, and soon the 
yawl was headed for the creek. During this 
time the active mind of Gilbert was not still. 
From the position he occupied he saw a possible 
means of escape and determined to avail him- 
self of it should the moment for action arise. 
The back of the man at the oars was toward 
Gilbert, who sat high up in the bow. Only the 
man in the stern faced him, and Gilbert made 
up his mind to attempt a desperate act. True, 
there was much danger in that which he con- 
templated, but Gilbert was not only desperately 
brave, but a Hercules in physical strength. He 
had determined to fall suddenly upon, seize and 
toss overboard the man nearest to him, and then 
strike down the other before he could use his 
rifle. He was just in the act of rising to put 
this plan into execution when he was detected 
by the man in the stern of the yawl, who ordered 
him to sit down under penalty of instant death. 
Gilbert, making some casual excuse for chang- 


MURDER. 


89 


mg his position, took his seat again. From 
that moment his golden opportunity was lost, 
the rifle in the hands of his vigilant guard being 
placed across the shoulder of the man at the 
oars, pointing straight towards Gilbert’s breast, 
and kept in that position during the remainder 
of more than an hour’s row around to the 
bridge. His guard never knew what the real 
intention of Gilbert was, but, becoming sus- 
picious of his movements, and by pursuing the 
course he did, thwarted the object Gilbert had 
in view. 

Meanwhile Sir John, Lyttleton, and Alger- 
non and George Graves had been conducted 
overland by a nearer route ; and, arriving ahead 
of the party in the boat, were halted under 
guard on the bridge which connects the island 
with the mainland. Here their captors con- 
sulted among themselves while awaiting the 
arrival of the yawl, which soon came around, 
and Gilbert was ordered to land and join the 
other prisoners. George Bright then ordered 
all to be escorted across the bridge to the dwell- 
ing situated on the Neck of Land ” farm, 
about one mile distant, where they were halted 
on the lawn in front of the entrance to the 
house. The guard remained beside the cap- 
tives, while George Bright went within, followed 


90 


GILBERT : OR, THEN AND NOW, 


by those of the remaining members who were 
not engaged in keeping watch over the unfor- 
tunate tourists. It appeared that this dwelling 
had been converted into a hall of justice (?) ; that 
here all solemn deliberations were holden and 
offenders sentenced. 

The little party of captives had not been long 
upon the lawn when one of the outlaws, named 
Winfield Brown, came to the door and, in a 
commanding voice, inquired for Gilbert. “ Here 
I am,’’ responded Gilbert. “What is wanted of 
me?” 

“ I wish to tell you, Gilbert, that we have no 
use for you here at all. You are a bad man.” 

“Then,” said Sir John Shriver, who heard 
every word the outlaw had spoken, “ whatever 
you intend doing to Gilbert do to me. I alone 
persuaded him to come with us, which he did 
against his will.” 

This man, Winfield Brown, was a slave 
preacher, belonging to the Coke family of 
Williamsburg, and had been chosen judge by 
the outlaw band, of which he was one of the 
most desperately cruel. Within the chamber 
of justice all was excitement when, above the 
din of voices, one man was overheard by the 
captives to exclaim, “ I shall never give my 
consent to the commission of such a cruel act. 


MURDER. 


91 


Gilbert 1 have known all the days of my life ; 
he has often defended and fed me when I was 
hungry, and I shall not consent to the harming 
of a hair of his head ! ” This man was John 
Bright, an uncle to George, also a slave from 
the Claremont Manor plantation. 

Silence fell over the tumultuous council for a 
moment, and then orders were received by the 
guard to countermarch the prisoners to the 
bridge. As the group started to return, Gil- 
bert, who was the last man in the line, lagged. 
“ Come along, there ! ” shouted one of the 
guard. “No falling behind I ” 

Up to this moment none of the outlaws who 
had gone into the building had joined the 
party moving towards the bridge, but when 
Gilbert was ordered to move on he turned his 
face to the rear, and, to his amazement, beheld 
more than fifty members of the band emerging 
from the door armed with weapons ranging 
from army rifles to scythe blades and grub 
hoes, and led by George Bright and the 
judge. 

Sentence of death had been passed upon the 
unfortunate party, and this motley crowd were 
following them to the place of execution. The 
guard having escorted the doomed men to the 
bridge, they were halted midway, the guard 


92 


GILBERT ; OK, THEN AND NOW. 


moving over to the further end, where they 
formed a cordon to prevent any from escaping. 
Meanwhile, the main body of the band having 
come up, their victims were securely penned in, 
escape being impossible. 

The prisoners were standing in line — first. 
Sir John Shriver, then Algernon Graves, while, 
clinging to his left side, tremblingly stood little 
George, next to whom was Lyttleton, with Gil- 
bert on the extreme left. George Bright, the 
leader of this savage gang, came up in front of 
the prisoners, facing Lyttleton, followed by 
others, and said : “ Lyttleton, step out of that 
line.” As Lyttleton was in the act of obeying 
that command he was forced back by Gilbert, 
who stepped up very close to Bright, and, 
thrusting his face close into that of the desper- 
ado, inquired : “ What do you want of Lyttle- 
ton ?” 

“ He has no business in that crowd ” came 
the reply. 

“No!” cried the crowd. “Lyttleton is a 
good fellow, and we do not wish to hurt him. 
He will stay with us and become one of our 
members.” 

Realizing that night was rapidly approaching, 
and doubtless thinking of those on the op- 
posite side of the river, Algernon Graves 


MURDER. 


93 


said : “ Men, if you intend to allow us to go, 
please do so. The sun is fast sinking and we 
would like to return to our homes.” 

“You will never return alive,” declared 
George Bright, flourishing his musket. 

“Take us to Williamsburg before the United 
States Military Governor,” suggested Mr. 
Graves. Or, if you will not do that, send one 
of your members to Colonel McCanliss, my 
brother-in-law, and I will ransom myself and 
friends by paying you thirty thousand dollars 
to spare our lives.” 

“D n your money; we don’t wish it!” 

came the fiendish reply. 

Mr. Graves then addressed the outlaws, 
reciting the motive which alone prompted him- 
self and his party to visit the island, declaring 
they had no other object in view, and appealing 
to the better manhood of these inhuman fiends 
to spare the lives of innocent fellowmen, par- 
ticularly dwelling upon the youth and innocence 
of his little nephew. He might as well have 
wasted his words upon a block of adamant. 
These cruel, ferocious cut-throats scorned his 
helpless entreaties without evincing one pang 
of conscience, jeering at the pathetic words of 
the man who had so often held vast audiences 
spellbound with his eloquence. 


H GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 

Seeing that Mr. Graves’ entreaties were with- 
out effect, Sir John Shriver deeply, yet courage- 
ously, impressed by his surroundings, drew 
from his pocket the passport of his government, 
and, having explained in detail the meaning of 
the paper and the possible effect a violation of 
a law between nations might have upon the 
future chances of freedom being accorded to the 
slaves, should the Federal authorities become 
involved with his country if harm should come 
to him through violence, demanded protection 
in the name of the Queen of England. 

‘‘D n you and the Queen of England, 

too ! ” shouted the crowd. “We do not intend 
to allow any of you to escape.” 

“Should we let Shriver go,” said the judge, 
“he will inform on us ; should we kill him, none 
will know what became of him.” 

The last card had been played. This happy 
party of a few hours before stood facing death 
under the most appalling conditions. They 
were to be murdered in cold blood, with no 
charge against them — guilty of no overt act. 
In less than an hour the beautiful sun of the 
morning, which arose in all its splendor over 
their happy heads, would set over their lifeless 
bodies, and their kindred and friends would 
long in vain for their return, never to learn 


MURDER. 


96 


what evil befell them. Cruel, cruel fate, that 
was to wring the heartstrings of a loving wife 
and children, fill the homes of relatives and 
friends with sorrow, and shock all civilization 
within the radius of an hundred miles ! 

Seeing that further pleadings were in vain, 
these doomed men resigned themselves to their 
fate, and awaited the inevitable with a stoicism 
unsurpassed. There was one among them who 
had determined to sell his life dearly, however. 
With a courage born of desperation, Gilbert did 
not intend to calmly submit to being murdered 
in cold blood without a struggle. When again 
George Bright ordered Lyttleton to step out of 
the line, Gilbert, feeling confident that the 
others were to be shot down, sprang from the 
line and seized George Bright before he could 
use the musket which he held in his hand, and, 
snatching the weapon from him, felled him with 
its breech, knocking him senseless. Then, 
quickly hurling the gun before him, clinging to 
the muzzle meanwhile, he struck down several 
members of the outlaw gang so quickly and un- 
expectedly that the entire body seemed to be 
dazed with astonishment. Although holding 
fast to the barrel of the gun — the stock of which 
he had shattered and broken over the head of 
one of his intended murderers — he seized two 


96 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


others about the neck, drawing the head of each 
under an arm, and continued to hew his way 
through their ranks to the foot of the bridge. 
During this desperate encounter none dared to 
fire upon him for fear of killing the two outlaws, 
whom he held in his superhumanly powerful 
grasp. 

“ This will never do !” cried the judge. “ To 
allow one man to drive us all is a shame. Shoot 
him I” he exclaimed. 

Meanwhile Gilbert had cut his way through 
the outlaw ranks, and, while still clinging to the 
necks of the two desperadoes, was making his 
way over the open field of the island, when a 
musket, discharged full at him, missed its aim, 
and, penetrating the brain of the man whose 
head he held under his right arm, killed him 
instantly. Another shot, and this ball passed 
through the body of the other outlaw, and en- 
tered the abdominal region of Gilbert’s body, 
felling both to the earth. 

Other members of the murderous band, mean- 
while, had shot Sir John Shriver, Algernon and 
George Graves, and thrown their bodies over 
the rail of the bridge. Believing that Gilbert 
was likewise dead, those w^ho had fired upon 
him returned to the scene on the bridge, in- 
tending later to return and give his remains a 



BRIDGE AT JAMESTOWN ISEAND. 




i 




MURDER. 


97 


burial similar to that bestowed upon the mur- 
dered whites. It had become quite dark. Gil- 
bert, although sorely injured, with his intestines 
protruding from the ugly, gaping wound in his 
abdomen, released his hold upon the dead out- 
law and crawled cautiously to the high grass of 
the marsh which bordered the creek above and 
below the bridge. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

GILBERT’S ESCAPE. 

E left Gilbert, nigh mortally wounded, con- 



V V cealed in the high grass of the marsh 
bordering the creek which flowed beneath the 
bridge from which the bodies of the white men 
had been tossed by the fiends who had butch- 
ered them in cold blood. Sir John Shriver, 
when his body struck the water, proved to be 
yet alive and swam up the creek quite a dis- 
tance before he was observed by his foul assas- 
sins. When, however, the discovery was made, 
the entire band rushed along the shore, until 
they came opposite this struggling, dying vic- 
tim of their hellish act, and to prevent his land- 
ing, he was again shot, and sank beneath the 
quiet waters which were to be his last resting- 
place. Oh, destiny, thou art, indeed, incompre- 
hensible ! 

This occurrence was fortunate for Gilbert, 
who had ample time to securely hide himself 
in the soft mud before his assailants returned 
for his body. Great was there surprise, there- 
fore, when they discovered that only their 


gilbert’s escape. 


99 


dead confederates remained, and that Gilbert 
had disappeared. Vanished like a meteor. 
It was night, and a search for the escaped 
man was conducted under very great diffi- 
culties. However, every section of the field 
and available marsh was traversed in the vain 
hope of finding his hiding place. In their eager 
pursuit, while plunging through the tall marsh 
grass and mud where Gilbert lay, prone upon 
his back covered with weeds, one searcher 
actually stepped upon the palm of his out- 
stretched hand, but failed to detect his presence. 
In this position the sufferer lay for an hour, 
listening to and hearing the clamor among the 
outlaws, which his escape had engendered, fear- 
ing to move, scarcely daring to breathe. 

“ Where could he have gone ?” asked one. 

“ I don’t know,” replied another. “ I was 
certain he was dead when we left him.” 

“He must be found and finished,” said 
George Bright. It will never do to allow Gil- 
bert to get away.” 

“What shall we do now, George?” inquired 
the preacher. “We have searched every- 
where.” 

“ Gilbert must have crawled to the creek, but 
it is so dark we can do no more until daylight,” 
replied George. “ He certainly cannot live, 


LcfC. 


100 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


shot as he is. Very likely we shall find him 
dead in the morning, but find him we must.” 

“Yes, we must find him, and I shall not be 
satisfied until he is dead,” said the preacher. 
“Two of our best men were killed on his ac- 
count, and a dozen more were so badly wounded 
by his hand that half of ’em may die. It will 
never do to let him live. How do you feel, 
George?” he inquired of Bright, who had re- 
covered from the blow Gilbert had given him 
on the bridge early in the evening. 

“ Mighty poorly,” came the answer. “ I 
thought I was dead for sure. See this great 
scalp wound? Nothing but my cap saved my 
skull from being split open.” 

“Your rifle is ruined, too,” remarked one of 
the men. “ There is nothing but the barrel left 
whole, and he knocked down five of us with 
that.” 

“Well, he has paid for it, I hope,” said the 
preacher. 

Calling all of his men together, George gave 
directions that the bodies of the two dead out- 
laws be taken to Neck of Land farmhouse, and 
that two of the party conceal themselves near the 
boat for fear that Gilbert should be alive and in 
hiding nearby, and awaiting an opportunity to 
steal the boat and make good his escape. 


GILBERT S ESCAPE. 


101 


“ After an hour or so,” he said to the pair 
chosen to watch the yawl, “ if he does not ap- 
pear, take the boat and come around to the 
upper landing.” 

While this conversation was going on Gilbert 
lay within earshot of the speaker and those 
about him, hearing every word that was spoken. 

The dead men were removed, as ordered by 
George Bright, and the boat watch walked back 
to the bridge, while the main party turned to 
the pathway leading to Neck of Land, having in 
charge Lyttleton, whom they had decided not 
to kill. 

“ I am sure you did not come here to do us 
injury, Lyttleton,” said George Bright, who had 
spent his boyhood in the companionship of 
Lyttleton, “and I was determined that you 
should not be hurt ; but you must become one 
of us and remain on the island with the band.” 

Seeing the futility of resistance, and being 
thankful to heaven for his deliverance from 
death, Lyttleton agreed to join the band of out- 
laws, but was mentally determined to make his 
escape the very first opportunity that presented 
itself. 

We shall leave him for the present in the com- 
pany of these desperately reckless men, who, 
however, kept a close watch on his movements. 


102 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


Gilbert, who had risen to a sitting position, 
covered with mud, save his eyes and mouth, 
and with his intestines protruding from his 
side and faint from the loss of blood, scarcely 
knew what to do. Thus he sat, listening closely 
to every sound. He was aware that the guard 
over the yawl was located within less than ten 
yards of him, and that the others had returned 
to the farmhouse a mile away. He determined 
to wait until those near him removed the boat, 
and then, should his strength permit, he would 
seek refuge elsewhere, as it would never do for 
another sun to rise over his head in that vicinity, 
should he be alive. While thus communing a 
peculiar sound attracted his attention. The out- 
laws were hauling the chain into the bow of 
the yawl. 

“We might as well go,’^ said one to the 
other ; “ that fellow has either swam the creek 
or he is dead in the marsh.” 

“ I say so, too ; and it is so dark, we could 
not see him if he was within ten feet of us,” 
responded the other. 

Both men then entered the yawl, and soon 
Gilbert heard the steady sound of the oars as 
the little craft glided through the water. Cau- 
tiously rising, and listening intently until the 
sound of the oars died out of hearing, he 


GILBERT’S ESCAPE. 


103 


retraced his steps to the bridge, and crossed 
over to the shore of the James, hoping to dis- 
cover some kind of craft in which he might at 
least find safety on the bosom of the river, let 
his landing place be wherever it may. 

In his wounded condition he kept up the 
search for hours in vain. He had dragged his 
footsteps nearly around the island, but no boat 
could he find. At last he discovered the decayed 
bottom of an old skiff, and, launching this frail 
craft, attempted to float out into the tide ; but 
repeated attempts failed, and so exhausted had 
he become that he gave up the task and seated 
himself to rest. 

While thus reclining he lost consciousness, 
and seemed to hear a voice saying, “ Gilbert, 
rise and follow me ; now is your time.’^ He 
sat up, looked around him, but saw no one. 
Such an impression had been made on his 
mind, however, that he rose to his feet and 
started off, without knowing the direction 
in which he was going. Sooner than he 
expected he had reached the bridge upon 
which the tragedy of the afternoon had been 
enacted, and which was still wet with the life- 
blood of his white companions. Gilbert did not 
pause, but moved straight over the road lead- 
ing to the camping ground of the murderous 


104 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


crew whom he was attempting to elude. For 
one instant he hesitated, but, impelled by 
that unexplainable influence which seemed to 
possess him, he went onward until he came into 
full view of the midnight orgies of these 
wretches, who were enjoying a carnival of food 
wrested from the surrounding plantations. 

At this season of the year the grass and corn 
was still standing erect in the fields, while 
cattle ranged amongst it at will. Beyond the 
barns at the Neck of Land's farm the outlaws 
had established a regular picket guard that, 
should anyone attempt to invade their seized 
territory or escape therefrom, they would not 
be surprised ; nor could a fleeing captive elude 
them. 

Seeing by the light of the campfire that all 
were engaged in cooking or dancing, wrestling 
or singing — in fact, thoroughly preoccupied — 
Gilbert, with the advantage of being in the 
darkness, turned aside and moved around 
behind the barns, thus escaping detection. 
Once, while making this perilous movement, 
he was heard by the guard, but, thinking the 
sound caused by the breaking of a stalk of corn 
was the act of one of the cattle at that hour feed- 
ing nearby, they gave themselves no uneasiness 
and allowed the incident to pass unnoticed. 


gilbert’s escape. 


106 


“What was that noise?” inquired one. 

‘‘Nothing but a cow,” replied the other. 
“You didn’t suppose it was Gilbert, did you?” 
he continued. 

“I didn’t suppose anything; I heard the 
noise, that was all,” said the first. 

So close was Gilbert to these men that he dis- 
tinctly heard and understood every word they 
said. Pausing until the momentary surprise 
had been overcome, he crept slowly along 
in the darkness, thankful, indeed, that he had 
located the outpost of his enemy, and confident 
that by a deflection to the left he would be suc- 
cessful in passing out unobserved. 

“ I don’t see why George is so particular 
about guarding this post to-night,” remarked 
one sentry to another. “ Nobody expects Gil- 
bert Wooten to escape this way, even if he is 
alive.” 

“Gilbert Wooten is dead long ago,” an- 
swered the confederate. “ I know the bullet 
fired into his carcass done the work. He may 
have crawled to the marsh, but he will never 
crawl out again.” 

“ Should he not be found in the morning, 
George says set the grass afire, and either drive 
him out or burn his body,” responded the other. 

During this time Gilbert had passed beyond 


106 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


the line of the post, but was still within hearing 
distance. He had stopped to rest and to press 
back his bowels to their normal position. Before 
him all was darkness ; behind him the light of 
the campfires gleamed, illuminating a circle 
which plainly included the outpost. Moving 
onward, groping his way, he at last struck the 
highway leading to the upper-gate entrance to 
the Neck of Land. At last he knew where he 
was. He could now easily retain his bearings. 
Passing through the gate, which bordered the 
woodland, he turned to his right and, having 
followed the fence for some rods, sank down 
exhausted beside a tree, and soon became un- 
conscious. 

When Gilbert awoke the October sun, just 
rising over the trees, was shining in all 
its resplendent brightness full in his face. 
Weary, weak and sore, he was truly in a piti- 
able condition. His inflamed wound, now 
greatly swollen, had received no attention, but 
had been much irritated by his exertions and 
the exposure which he had endured. He made 
an attempt to rise to his feet, but fell backward. 
Again he put forth an effort, and by the help of 
the indomitable will-power he had so often dis- 
played, succeeded in standing erect. Oh, for 
some friendly power to aid him in finding 


GILBERT'S ESCAPE, 


107 


assistance in his great distress ! He looked 
about him and measured with his eye the lay of 
the land. Off yonder, to his right, eight miles 
away, lay the city of Williamsburg ; to his left 
the road leading up the peninsula into Charles 
City county. Believing, should he strike a mid- 
dle course, he would come out into the open 
somewhere in close proximity to the point he 
desired to make, which would lead him away 
from his foes and possibly find him a friend, he 
broke down a bush and, having fashioned a rude 
crutch therefrom, set off as best he could in the 
direction determined upon. 

Not one morsel of food had he tasted for 
twenty-four hours ; not a drop of liquid save 
the murky water of the creek marsh. Could a 
man endure much more misery and yet retain 
sufficient courage to enable him to proceed ? 
We will leave Gilbert wandering in the laby- 
rinth of bushes and brush which studded his 
pathway, and turn back to see what those fiends 
incarnate, who were the authors of his suffering, 
were engaged in doing. 

As early as daylight the band of murderers 
had returned to the scene of the tragedy of the 
evening before, and began a systematic search 
for the missing man. From the spot where he 
had fallen they had followed his trail to the edge 


108 


GILBERT; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


of the marsh grass, tracked him to the spot 
where he lay suffused in mud, and back again 
to the bridge. Here all trace had ended, 
and, believing he had entered the grass on 
the opposite side of the bridge, by order of 
George Bright it was fired, and soon a mighty 
ocean of flame shot heavenward. Not satisfied 
with the probable death of their victim, these 
wretches would add a holocaust to his destruc- 
tion. The flames spread rapidly, and in a short 
time the mighty cloud of smoke from the burn- 
ing marsh on both sides of the creek floated 
overland for miles, and was seen for a long dis- 
tance. This cloud of smoke was distinctly 
observed by the anxious watchers on the oppo- 
site shore of the James river — yes, by the wife 
and children of Algernon Graves. 

“ If he is in that marsh, dead or alive, his car- 
cass will never be recognized after that fire 
reaches him,” remarked the preacher. 

“No.” replied George Bright, “his grand- 
mother wouldn’t know him.” 

“Well, if he is not in the marsh, he is either 
in the creek or has made his escape, for his 
trail ended at the bridge, and I am certain he 
could not fly,” rejoined the preacher. 

“ More than likely he is dead in the marsh,” 
was the response of George Bright ; “ and as 


gilbert’s escape. 


109 


this is all that is to be done, we might as well 
return to the camp. Call the men,” he said to 
one close by. 

“ I wonder what the folks across the river 
think,” said the preacher to George. 

“That the boat upset and drowned all of 
’em, most likely.” 

“ Suppose any of the bodies rise and float 
ashore and shot-holes are found,” went on the 
preacher. 

“ D — n it, preacher, don’t ask such puzzling 

questions. How the d 1 do I know what 

will happen then ? But I do know that none 
of ’em are alive to tell what has already hap- 
pened to ’em.” 

Lyttleton had been kept confined in one of 
the rooms of the farmhouse since the evening 
before, but on the return of the searching party 
was called before the leader and his council. 

“ Lyttleton,” said George Bright, “ your life 
has been spared by the council, through my in- 
fluence, upon the condition that you join our 
band and swear never to tell what you know 
about what happened to the men from across 
the river. Do you agree to these conditions?” 

“ I agree,” said Lyttleton ; “ but may I not in 
some manner let my people know that I am safe 
and well?” 


no 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


“ No ; not one word must go across the river,” 
replied the leader. “Should they learn that 
you are alive and well, they would reason- 
ably suppose that the others were also, and 
then make an effort to find out why the white 
men and Gilbert Wooten had not returned. We 
wish no large party of white men with guns to 
visit this locality, and such a course as you 
would pursue would bring a regiment here.” 

“ I thought of my wife and children,” mur- 
mured Lyttleton, “ but am satisfied to do as you 
say.” 

“You are free to roam the camp and go on 
excursions with the men,” said the preacher, 
but not alone. “Your being a member of this 
band was not a free and voluntary act, hence 
proper precaution demands that you be kept 
closely under our eye, be you ever so honest in 
your intentions.” 

Lyttleton was then assigned quarters, given 
food and told to make himself contented. 

While all this was going on among the out- 
laws, Gilbert was slowly, but painfully, nearing 
a place of safety. He had come out of the wood 
very close to where he hoped, and in the dis- 
tance he could see the tall mansion house on 
the Copeland estate. Could he but reach this 
before he became totally exhausted he was safe. 


gilbert’s escape. 


Ill 


Slowly wending his way, presently he came to 
the river road, leaving Neck of Land and James- 
town behind him, and feeling confident now 
that the outlaws could never find him, even 
were they to renew their search. Not a human 
being had he seen since his last glimpse of the 
outlaw pickets. Would he find the Copeland 
mansion deserted ? This thought much dis- 
turbed him. He had consumed four hours in 
traveling less than three miles. Unless he could 
receive nourishment and have some attention 
paid to his wounds, which had become greatly 
inflamed, he might as well have perished in the 
marshes of Jamestown Creek. Suddenly the 
distant rumble of wheels from behind him at- 
tracted his attention, and, turning his head, he 
beheld two men in a buggy coming at full 
speed, their horse bathed in foam, while one 
was using the lash on the noble beast at every 
stride. 

“ Great God above ! Can it be that they are 
on my trail and are thus pursuing me ! ” ex- 
claimed Gilbert. What was best to be done 
he knew not. Flight was out of the question. 
He could scarcely drag his enfeebled steps, much 
less run. On came the buggy, nearer and 
nearer, until it was so close that Gilbert recog- 
nized the United States uniforms. 


112 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


“ Thank heaven ! ” he cried ; “ they are Yan- 
kee soldiers.” 

The buggy was now up to where Gilbert 
stood, but the two officers — which they proved 
to be — neither checked their speed nor cast a 
glance at this unfortunate man as they drove 
recklessly on, to what point of destination Gil- 
bert never knew. But Gilbert had had a great 
and sudden load lifted from his weary shoulders. 
At least they were not any of the outla'w band, 
which he at first apprehended they might be, 
and, although they had rendered him no assist- 
ance, they certainly had not molested him. 
Soon he reached the highway entrance to the 
Copeland plantation, and, to his great delight, 
at that very moment the son of the owner of the 
estate, mounted on a fine horse, cantered up the 
lane and drew rein in front of Gilbert. 

Young Copeland was merely a boy, and it is 
not surprising, therefore, that seeing a man in 
the pitiable condition which Gilbert presented 
greatly frightened him. So much surprised was 
he that he wheeled his horse and was about to 
return to the house when Gilbert spoke to him, 
begging that he listen to his story. The lad 
heard his tale with astonishment clearly depicted 
on his face, and then said : 

“ Come, go with me to the house. Father 


gilbert’ s escape. 


113 


will surely do something for you;” and, turning 
his horse, he rode slowly, leading the way for 
Gilbert to follow. 

Leaving Gilbert standing at the door, he ran 
within to apprise his parents of Gilbert’s pres- 
ence and the cause of his condition. Soon a 
lady came to the door and said, “ Come in, poor 
man ; you need tell me nothing of your trouble. 
From an upper window I saw it all yesterday — 
heard the firing and saw the men fall.” 

Soon Mr. Copeland joined his wife, and Gil- 
bert briefly rehearsed the events of the day be- 
fore and of his adventures since twilight of the 
day just past. These were kindly hands into 
which Gilbert had fallen. Their own slaves had 
fled and left them all alone, with none but their 
son. Nevertheless, they could not allow a 
fellow-being to linger in such distress without 
rendering whatever service was in their power 
towards alleviating his sufferings. Stimulants 
and nourishing food were freely bestowed upon 
Gilbert, and Mr. Copeland bathed and bandaged 
the torn and bleeding wound with his own 
hands, and then bade him rest. 

Gilbert was an entire stranger to this hospi- 
table Virginia gentleman, but Algernon had 
been his lifelong friend. Sir John Shriver, too, 
was well known to him. When Gilbert had 


114 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


sufficiently rested to converse freely, Mr. Cope- 
land suggested that he would take him to Wil- 
liamsburg to the United States Emergency 
Hospital, but his far-seeing wife opposed the 
idea, saying: “Should those people at Neck 
of Land learn that we had succored this poor 
man, they would murder us and burn our home 
over our dead bodies.’’ 

“Very true; I had not thought of that,” re- 
plied Mr. Copeland. 

“ Whom do you know up the river, Gilbert?” 
inquired Mr. Copeland. 

Giving the name of a planter who resided 
several miles above the Copeland plantation, 
Gilbert said : “ Should I be able to reach him, 
he would set me across the river, I am sure.” 

“Very well,” responded Mr. Copeland, who 
then instructed his son to mount his horse, take 
Gilbert up behind him, and carefully convey the 
injured man to the home of the planter named. 
“You might not find him at home, and for fear 
you would have trouble in crossing the James, 
here are two dollars with which to hire some 
one to row you safely over ; but do not let it 
be known that I rendered you this service, or 
my life and property may pay the penalty for 
having done so, ’’said Mr. Copeland, as he bade 
Gilbert good by. 


gilbert’s escape. 


116 


This was at a period when the hot blood of 
the Southerners was boiling — when, if any pre- 
judice had existed, the negro was a menace ; 
but this gentleman of the old school of Vir- 
ginia aristocrats did not hesitate to render a 
service for one of the blacks which would have 
jeopardized his life had that service become 
known. Is it so to-day? No, indeed. To 
treat a negro with any but forced civility 
on the part of the present race of whites is 
looked upon as being a breach of social law 
in the South, and he who would be so courage- 
ous as to exceed the bounds prescribed by the 
scions of just such men as Mr. Copeland com- 
mits an unpardonable sin in the estimation of 
the Pharisee-hypocrite element, who would pro- 
claim throughout Christendom that they are 
made of better stuff than their grandsires, or, 
perchance, the fathers who begat them. 

Gilbert reached the point desired as the sun 
was setting, and the follow morning was sent 
across the James river a little below Four Mile 
Tree. 


CHAPTER IX. 


GREAT EXCITEMENT — BUTCHERY OF LYTTLE* 
TON HART. 

F or thirty-six hours the friends of the little 
party who had left the south shore of the 
James two days before had looked in vain for 
some tidings of the yawl and its occupants. A 
general alarm had been sent out, and men and 
women thronged the river bank for miles., 
straining their vision in the direction of James- 
town for hours, while others congregated in 
groups, and in solemn whispers gave expres- 
sion to conjectures as to the fate of the five 
souls who had failed to return. Matrons and 
maidens in great numbers visited Four Mile 
Tree to offer comfort and to encourage the well- 
nigh distracted wife of Algernon Graves. Yet 
within their hearts they shared the feeling of 
the masses in the belief that never again would 
the yawl or any of its occupants touch the 
sandy shore of the beautiful river that washed 
the foot of the garden. 

When, however, a mere speck of a boat was 
discerned heading across the James in the 


GREAT EXCITEMENT. 


117 


direction of Four Mile Tree, a great rush was 
made by the crowd for the beach. Nearer and 
nearer the tiny craft approached, while all eyes 
were stretched to catch a glimpse of its occu- 
pants. 

“There are two men in that boat,” remarked 
Captain William Dillard, a near neighbor and 
lifelong friend of Algernon Graves. “ No, they 
are not the party for whom we are seeking,” he 
continued, having again adjusted his field glass, 
the boat meanwhile being at least a mile distant. 

“ It appears to me,” exclaimed Doyler 
Stewart, “as though one man is lying in a 
reclining position, while the other is alone row- 
ing the boat.” Some one had informed the 
anxious relatives at the Four Mile Tree house 
of the approach of the boat, and soon the grief- 
stricken wife of Algernon Graves and her chil- 
dren joined the throng, all eagerly awaiting 
the landing of the boat. 

“There are so many excited people along 
the river bank, Gilbert, that I fear to land you 
among them. How do I know they may not 
suspect me with being a party to the great 
trouble at the island ? I shall keep off and land 
you some distance below, and then back out 
into the stream again before any can come up,” 
said the man at the oars. 


118 


gilbert; or, then and now. 


It will be borne in mind that it was with 
great reluctance that any one on the peninsula 
side of the river could be prevailed upon to put 
Gilbert across the river. Those not familiar 
with the condition of things at that time can 
scarcely conceive the peril one risked in aiding 
or abetting in any way the thwarting of 
another’s plans, let those plans be ever so 
heinously unlawful. Had it ever reached the 
ears of those outlaw wretches that this man had 
conveyed Gilbert Wooten over the river, his 
life would surely have paid for the act or his 
property would have been destroyed. 

It can be easily understood, then, why this 
man did not wish to land Gilbert in the midst 
of his friends. Some might be among that 
immense congregation who personally knew 
the boatman, or, perchance, some one who 
sympathized with the outlaws might be there, 
and, learning who had rowed the wounded 
man, might report it intentionally. 

“ Land me wherever you like ; sir, they’ll 
seek me soon enough,” said Gilbert. 

The boat, now but a fourth of a mile from 
the shore, was pointed down the river and rowed 
rapidly with the tide until the adjoining planta- 
tion of Mount Pleasant was reached, and then 
quickly headed for the shore. From the dis- 


GREAT EXCITEMENT. 


119 


tance, this maneuver had been witnessed by the 
watchers above, who, thinking the boat was 
bound down the stream, had not followed along 
the beach, but when they saw the yawl sud- 
denly turn and rapidly approach the shore 
their curious excitement was very great, and 
breathlessly they hurried towards the landing 
point. When the bow of the boat touched the 
shore the oarsman sprang out, and, carefully 
lifting Gilbert ashore, gently laid him down, 
then hurriedly re-entering his craft, he pushed 
off before anyone could get close enough to 
recognize him. By a sturdy stroke of his oars 
the little boat was soon far from the shore. 
Gilbert had been charged not to divulge the 
identity of the friendly man who had rendered 
him this very great kindness, which doubtless 
saved his life, and hence it is not our province, 
at this late day, to even intimate who the 
good Samaritan was that turned not away from 
the cry of sore distress. 

But a few minutes passed before the nearest 
persons, whose vigils had been ceaseless for so 
many exciting hours, reached the side of the 
prostrate Gilbert, and a cry of alarmed surprise, 
mingled with that of horror, rent the air as he 
was quickly recognized by Doyler Stewart, who 
was foremost in reaching the place where Gilbert 


120 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


lay. On lightning wings the news spread along 
the shore, and then it was that excitement knew 
no bounds. Those who summoned him saw at 
a glance that he was in an almost dying condi- 
tion, and that the earliest medical assistance 
could alone possibly save him. 

“ Where are Mr. Graves and Sir John Shriver, 
Gilbert,” was the first question asked. “ And 
the little boy, George,” continued Captain 
Dillard. 

Dead,” faintly whispered Gilbert. “ All 
dead but me !” 

“ Great God 1 ” all exclaimed in one voice. 
“How did it happen?” 

Gilbert recited the main points in a half whis- 
per to those bending over him, and thus the 
news was communicated to the masses. It was 
truly a sad hour along the river shore. The 
lamentations of the relatives of the murdered 
men ; the execrations heaped upon the heads of 
the foul fiends who had wrought this mighty 
sorrow, and the cry of vengeance which was 
uppermost on every tongue, filled the balmy air 
and seemed to find echo in the placid ripple of 
the wavelets that wasted their gentle force along 
the sandy shore. 

Oh, war, and thy awful consequences I Will 
the time never come when man’s inhumanity to 


GREAT EXCITEMENT. 


121 


man shall cease to cast its burden on so many 
countless millions ?” 

Tenderly placing Gilbert upon an improvised 
stretcher, he was carried to the manor house at 
Mount Pleasant and messengers despatched 
with greatest haste for surgical aid. Like all 
other bad news, this calamity became quickly 
known far and wide, creating the deepest 
impression of sorrow upon the minds and 
hearts of the public. Both the United States 
and Confederate authorities were apprised of 
the facts, and every wheel set in motion to 
apprehend the perpetrators of the dastardly 
crime. As quickly as human power could avail, 
a surgeon was beside the wounded man, and at 
once took such steps as were necessary to insure 
his comfort and assist nature in repairing the 
injury which had been inflicted. For days Gil- 
bert lay powerless in the most critical condition, 
the best medical assistance which could be pro- 
cured hanging over him. 

“ What are his chances of recovery, doctor ?” 
inquired Captain Dillard two days after he had 
been at the Mount Pleasant manor house. 

“ One chance in a hundred,” came the 
response, “ but the great constitutional power of 
the man may pull him through. Had assistance 
reached him before gangrenous inflammation 


122 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


set in there would be little difficulty, but noth- 
ing' but a miracle can save him now.” 

‘‘ If money can save him, do it,” said Cap- 
tain Dillard, who continued : Should you deem 
a consultation with other physicians essential, 
send for them. We particularly wish the life of 
this man saved. He alone can identify the 
murderers, if apprehended, and without his evi- 
dence they may go unpunished.” 

“ Rest assured we shall do everything in our 
power to restore him,” responded the physician. 

In a week’s time Gilbert showed signs of 
being much improved. Such a happy turn had, 
in fact, taken place in his condition that the 
doctors — for there were three instead of one, 
now — gave permission for him to be conveyed 
to his home at Claremont. There he was taken, 
where we leave him in the hands of tender 
nurses while we go to the house of sorrow — 
Four Mile Tree. 

Prostrate from grief and the great shock her 
nervous system had received, the wife of Alger- 
non Graves lay hovering between life and death. 
No pen can picture the agony of this devoted 
wife ; no words can convey an idea of the depth 
of her grief. Surrounded though she was by 
tenderly ministering hands, she refused to be 
comforted. 


GREAT EXCITEMENT. 


123 


“ Oh, if I could but recover his body ! ” she 
sobbed. She was, indeed, a sad spectacle to 
look upon, but, from information gleaned from 
Gilbert it* was certain that the body of Algernon 
Graves would never be recovered to occupy a 
resting place in the family ground beside that 
of his kindred. 

Although generally known that steps were 
being taken to apprehend the murderers, this 
was at a time when old Virginia was being rent 
by the devastating tread of hostile armies — at a 
time when the flower of manhood was preoccu- 
pied fighting the foes of the whole South. None 
but the old and the more youthful among the 
male citizens were left to hunt down these cow- 
ardly assassins, and it would have been suicidal 
to attempt it. The slightest provocation might 
induce the marauding cut-throats to cross the 
James and plunder, if, indeed, they did not mur- 
der. Hence it was deemed advisable to await the 
arrival of one or both of the opposing armies to 
accomplish the annihilation of this outlaw band. 

Sir John Shriver, having been a foreign sub- 
ject, and practically under the protection of the 
Federal American flag when his life was taken, 
caused the United States forces no little un- 
easiness. That government took active meas- 
ures to assure the English Queen that every 


124 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


effort would be made to bring the guilty to 
judgment and summary punishment. Finding 
that the Union forces were earnestly zealous in 
their purpose of capturing this band, the State 
authorities, which were really powerless under 
the existing condition of things, made no move, 
feeling confident that the watchful eye of Eng- 
land would stimulate the Federals to do their 
duty. 

Lyttleton, still a probationary prisoner among 
the banditti, had made several attempts to es- 
cape, but had not succeeded. He determined, 
however, to flee at all hazards. “ Better death 
than the life of disgrace I am enforced to lead,” 
he murmured. His dissatisfaction had been 
noticed by the band, and every member had 
been cautioned to keep a close watch upon his 
movements. With a full knowledge of this fact, 
neverthless, he defied fate, and one dark night 
made the attempt. He was discovered, how- 
ever, and captured. 

“ You have broken your promise and played 
us false,” said George Bright, before whom he 
was brought. “ I shall stand by you no longer.” 
And, addressing the other outlaws, the leader 
said : Take him away to the bridge and see 
that he joins his friends I ” 

Lyttleton was led over the same route his 


GREAT EXCITEMENT. 


126 


friends had traversed and to the identical spot 
where the whites had met their doom. How- 
ever, the form of death was somewhat varied in 
his case, his murderers choosing to drown him 
rather than to shoot him. Possibly a fear that 
the report of the rifles might attract attention 
may have had something to do with this method 
of procedure. Weights were fastened to Lyttle- 
ton’s person, and he was thrown over the rail of 
the bridge with as little ceremony as though he 
had been a block rather than a harmless, help- 
less fellow-being. Lyttleton proved to be a 
good swimmer, and, instead of sinking to and 
remaining on the bottom of the creek, he arose 
to the surface of the water, and, with the weighty 
impediment attached to him, swam ashore. 
This so enraged these heartless miscreants that, 
seizing an axe, one of them rushed up to the 
unfortunate man, and, with a swinging blow, 
severed his head from his body, remarking, as 
the helpless form reeled and fell, “ I guess that 
will keep you down.” His remains were then 
borne to the centre of the bridge, and, with the 
weights still attached, again thrown overboard, 
where the body sank, never to rise again. 

“Well, that finishes the lot,” remarked the 
preacher, who had been present during this foul 
butchery. “We can rest in peace now.” 


126 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


Little did this man suspect that Gilbert was 
safe from their hellish grasp, being tenderly 
nursed back to life by the skill of the best pro- 
fessional men in the vicinity of Claremont, who 
were aided in their work by the willing hands 
and sincere prayers of some of the best and 
most aristocratic representative white women of 
Virginia. Least did this preacher dream that 
the avenging eye of destiny had witnessed his 
incarnate deeds and that instruments of punish- 
ment were being inaugurated to carry into 
effect the ancient maxim, “ An eye for an eye 
and a tooth for a tooth.” 

It can scarcely be conceived that a human 
being, much less one who professed to follow 
the precepts of Jesus of Nazareth, could be so 
lost to justice and mercy as was exemplified in 
the acts of this negro, who, prior to the break- 
ing out of the war, appeared to be so gentle 
and kindly disposed towards both whites and 
blacks. What, let it be inquired, aroused the 
savage instincts of this man to that extent which 
transformed him into a brute as ferocious as an 
enraged panther, and froze every drop of the milk 
of human kindness within his heart? Was it 
the idea of freedom being accorded him ? Did 
his mistaken conception of the intention of the 
national government in organizing great armies 


GREAT EXCITEMENT. 


127 


and invading the Southland lead him to believe 
that he was but doing his duty in removing any 
obstacle which he suspected might prove an im- 
pediment ? 

Major Allen had received the sad tidings 
of the death of his kinsman and friends, 
and as soon as leave could be granted him 
he left his command and hurried to Clare- 
mont, accompanied by Mary, Gilbert’s wife. 
True, Major Allen could remain but a few 
hours, but during his brief sojourn he learned 
all the particulars from Gilbert, who was now 
convalescent. 

“Gilbert,” said the major, “had it not been 
for your indomitable courage none would ever 
have known the fate of any of your party. 
Such bravery as you have displayed should not 
go unrecognized, and I hope the day may come 
when it will be appreciated by all who know 
you as well as by those who, though strangers 
to you, may read of this calamity.” 

“ I only did my duty, Major Allen. I do not 
deserve especial praise for the part I took. 
Remember, sir, I was defending my life,” was 
the modest reply. 

“ Did you recognize any of the men who 
committed the deed ? ” 

“ Bless your soul, sir, yes. Over half of 


128 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


them were your slaves, among them George 
and John Bright.” 

Can it be possible,” exclaimed Major Allen, 
“ that my own people, whom I have always so 
kindly treated, would murder my kinsman and 
bosom friend ?” 

“Yes, sir; and there were two of them who 
belonged to Mr. Graves.” 

“ It is shocking,” concluded the major. 
“ These people must he punished. I shall report 
the case to the Confederate Secretary of War.” 
Major Allen, at that time the wealthiest man in 
Virginia, possessed great influence in official 
circles. At the beginning of hostilities between 
the sections he had organized and equipped a 
company of one hundred men at his private 
expense, and since then had been of much 
financial service to his State, being engaged in 
sending troops to the front. “ I shall return to 
Richmond in an hour, Gilbert, and leave you 
in the hands of the doctors and Mary. Be of 
good courage. You will recover from your 
wound and may yet have the satisfaction of 
seeing the wretches who would have murdered 
you dangling from the end of a rope.” 

“ It would be none too good for them, sir.” 

Turning to Mary, who was busying herself 
about the sick room, her master said : “ Take 


GREAT EXCITEMENT. 


129 


good care of him, Mary, and when he is well 
again I shall send for you ; but do not leave 
Gilbert so long as he needs your assistance. 
Remember, all of my property here is under his 
care. Anything he may need he is to have, 
and if money is required use it freely. Good- 
bye to both of you.” And, going over to the 
bedside of this lowly black man, whose wife 
was a slave, this big-hearted, chivalrous gentle- 
man took his hand and shook it warmly and 
sincerely. 

This was Major William Allen, of Clare- 
mont, a gentleman whose fame had spread 
from one end of the Republic to the other. He 
could command an audience at any moment 
with the high dignitaries of the South, including 
the President of the Confederacy, as he had the 
chief executive of the UnitedStatesprior to the 
war. This great, good man did not hesitate to 
grasp the hand of Gilbert, who was an honor 
to his race and a credit to himself. Had Major 
William Allen, were he alive at this day, shown 
such unfeigned friendship for a colored man, 
of “ good feeling for all humanity,” as is pro- 
fessed by the present generation of Southern 
men, he would not only be ostracised from 
good society, but would be branded as a 
“nigger lover.” 


130 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


We now leave Gilbert to be nursed back to 
health by his dutiful wife, while we turn the 
attention of the reader to the progress of the 
war in the vicinity of Claremont and its attend- 
ant consequences. 


CHAPTER X. 

CAPTURE OF THE OUTLAWS— GILBERT FACES 
THEM. 

W HILE Gilbert lay upon his back, slowly 
recovering from his wounds, great was 
the activity between the opposing forces of the 
North and South. As the mighty hosts of the 
Union advanced, stretching their lines like the 
arms of a giant octopus, just so rapidly did the 
Confederates contract their outposts, moving 
nearer to Richmond. All that section of the 
James river country below City Point, including 
Claremont, had fallen within the Union lines. 
No one remained at home who was capable of 
doing service in the ranks of the Southern army. 
Only elderly men, women and children of the 
whites, and such negroes as had not fled to Nor- 
folk or Fortress Monroe, within the Federal lines, 
remained to greet the invaders. The James 
river, however, was the main highway of the 
Union base of supplies and operations, and was 
daily traversed by ships of war, steam transports 
and sailing craft. Among these latter it was 
not an unusual thing to see private vessels 


132 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


manned by men seeking whatsoever they might 
devour, and who landed on the south side and 
plundered the plantations. 

Claremont seemed to offer special induce- 
ments to this class of marauders. Its convenient 
landing place, together with its natural attrac- 
tiveness, made it peculiarly enticing. Daily in- 
cursions were made by the followers of the Fed- 
eral army, and great damage was done. Stock 
of every description was seized, sans ceremony, 
but Gilbert Wooten had taken measures to put 
a stop to this continual thieving, although too 
feeble to personally give it active attention. By 
a trusted messenger he communicated with the 
Federal officers, reciting to them his condition 
and surroundings, and requested that they for- 
bid the further trespass, which had become so 
alarmingly frequent that but comparatively little 
was left of the abundance which but a short 
time before existed upon the Claremont estate. 
Through the same source they were informed 
that Gilbert was the survivor of the Jamestown 
massacre. Upon receiving this last information 
a special guard was ordered by the commandant 
to be stationed at Claremont, and from the hour 
of its arrival depredations ceased. 

It would not be out of place here to apprise 
the reader of the view Gilbert entertained con- 


CAPTURE OF THE OUTLAWS. 


133 


cerning the war, that all may be prepared to 
read of anything he may have done during its 
continuance. Being free born, and having as- 
sociated mainly among the white people, Gil- 
bert was in a position to more readily appreciate 
the differences in public opinion than the average 
colored man, particularly more so than those 
held in bondage. He had, during his past life, 
been an attentive listener — not through mere 
curiosity, but for the more laudable purpose of 
instruction. Being unable to read, he gave 
close attention to the discussions among the 
best informed white men whom he could reach, 
and from such information drew his own de- 
ductions. Some of his ideas concerning the 
war are worthy a place in history as an evidence 
of the reasoning capacity of an illiterate man. 
In conversation with an intelligent gentleman 
who happened to visit Claremont, Gilbert in- 
quired : 

“Can the North and South afford to go to 
war on account of the slaves ? It seems to me 
that the whole country had better agree to pay 
for them, whatever they may be valued at, and 
set them free rather than plunge the nation 
into a war which may cost a hundred times as 
much as the value of every slave in the South.” 

“What, in your opinion, Gilbert, would be 


134 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


the result as touching the welfare of the negro 
race should the South be forced to give up 
their slaves ? ” 

“ Now, sir,” he responded, “ you are asking 
me a question which it seems the white folks 
can’t agree upon, and it would be useless for 
me even to guess. Of course,” he continued, 
“ slavery does not interfere with me personally ; 
there are many among the slaves who are better 
off than they would be if set free, while there 
are others who might rise in the world to a 
sphere of usefulness far above their present 
condition ; but this question is for the white 
folks to settle, not one for men of my color to 
meddle with.” 

“ Have you any particular sympathy for one 
or the other of the two factions?” 

“ None at all, sir. I feel sorry for the people 
of the North and of the South equally. I know 
many will suffer, and I intend to remain neutral 
during the struggle. However, should I be 
able to be of service to a Southern soldier or a 
Northern soldier, I shall not hesitate to render 
whatever aid there may be within my power.” 

“You will not become a soldier, I suppose?” 

“No, sir; I don’t intend to lift my hand 
for or against a man on either side. Only help 
any whom I may find in distress.” 


CAPTURE OF THE OUTLAWS. 185 

“Should the Federals offer you large 
inducements to enter the army of the North, 
wouldn’t you do it ?” 

“ What for ? To be shot at and likely killed 
for the sake of some one else. No, sir ; noth- 
ing could induce me to voluntarily go to war. 
I had rather stop at Claremont the remainder of 
my days, knowing that my children must remain 
in bondage, than take up arms in any cause 
which I did not fully understand, or about 
which I was not certain.” 

“ Major Allen has placed great confidence in 
you, Gilbert, in leaving you in charge of this 
property. Suppose the enemy should come to 
Claremont and wish to destroy it, what would 
you think ?” 

“Think, sir I” exclaimed Gilbert. “ I think I 
should object, and if that did not prevent them 
from committing waste Fd go all the way to 
Washington to make complaint. The land they 
cannot take away, and as for the movable stuff 
— well,” he said, with a twinkle in his dark, 
full-set eyes, “ Major Allen gave all of that to 
me to keep for him,” he suggested, with empha- 
sis on “him,” “and if the Union soldiers are 
honest in their professions they won’t disturb 
the belongings of a colored man. Tell me, sir,” 
continued Gilbert, “what would be the result 


13G 


gilbert; or, then and now. 


of the emancipation of the slaves. It is a ques- 
tion you should understand, if I don’t, and I 
would like very much to know.” 

“ That is a difficult question to answer, Gil- 
bert. I doubt if there is a man in the United 
States who can solve that problem at this stage 
of affairs.” 

“ Should they be given their freedom, what 
will become of ’em until they can get a start, do 
you suppose, sir ? Certainly their masters would 
not be compelled to keep them. What then ? 
Are all of us to be taxed to take care of the 
tens of thousands of old and young who will be 
houseless — homeless? You see, I think I could 
manage to support Mary and her children, but 
I don’t feel like being made to help feed and 
clothe somebody else. My idea is that only 
such as can take care of themselves should be 
given their liberty at first, and that they should 
be compelled to labor to support their old and 
young until they are in a position to help them- 
selves. I believe in freedom, but I wish to see 
that freedom self-supporting. Should it be 
otherwise, much crime will be committed and 
much suffering endured.” 

“ Should this come about the slaves would be 
allowed to vote and to frame laws,” was 
suggested. 


CAPTURE OF THE OUTLAWS. 


1B7 


“ We’ve got too much law now, sir,” said 
Gilbert. “ And as for the negroes voting — why, 
there aren’t half of the poor whites who know 
what they are doing when they vote. What, 
then, is the use of adding more ignorance to the 
list? As I look at the matter, I don’t care 
whether I ever vote or not. Certainly not until 
I have some idea as to what I am voting to 
accomplish.” 

These extracts have been appended only to 
enlighten the readers in gaining an insight into 
the careful thought of Gilbert, and in no sense 
to argue the great political question which has 
bafQed the minds of the most eminent states- 
men the nation has been able to produce during 
the past forty years. But they do prove that the 
colored man is capable of entertaining an unbi- 
ased opinion, and furthermore, that he is no 
more prone to heedlessly express that opinion 
than many of those who have had far superior 
advantages over him. Gilbert, it is true, owed 
all he possessed to the training which he received 
under the instruction of the white man, but even 
these would have failed to make an impression 
upon a mind not susceptible of retaining the 
influence thrown about it. Not only did this 
man absorb the lessons of life so thoroughly 
taught him, but he had the ambitious ability to 


188 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


apply them to practical use in everyday affairs 
of life. He was not presumptuous in his de- 
meanor, but firmly respectful to high and low. 
His knowledge of human nature was remarkably 
clear, an advantage which often stood him well 
in his dealings with others. 

Gilbert at last recovered from the wounds 
which came so nigh abruptly ending his career, 
and bestirred himself looking after the Clare- 
mont plantation. True, there was but compara- 
tively little he could do. He was monarch 
of all he surveyed ; but this did not satisfy 
him. Meanwhile the war was progressing more 
steadily and with fluctuating results. Thou- 
sands of soldiers were being conveyed up the 
James daily to swell the Union ranks, with 
millions of rations to feed them. Early one 
morning Gilbert was attracted by the escaping 
steam from a gunboat which had been stopped 
at the landing, and, as he walked to the brow 
of the hill overlooking the pier, was surprised to 
see several officers, resplendent in gold lace and 
gaudy buttons, gayly climbing the pathway 
leading to the mansion. 

I wonder what is up now,’’ murmured Gil- 
bert ; “ these are Federals.” And, retracing his 
steps, he returned to the house, which he reached, 
unobserved, a moment ahead of the party. 


CAPTURE OF THE OUTLAWS. 


m 


Standing in the doorway, he awaited the ap- 
proach of the Federal officers, and hailed them 
with a pleasant “ Good morning, gentlemen,’’ 
as they halted before him. “ Won’t you walk 
in ?” he continued. 

“ Thank you, yes,” said one, who proved to 
be a colonel. “We are looking for the man 
who escaped from the outlaws at Jamestown 
some months ago. Can you tell us where he 
may be found ?” 

“Yes, sir;” responded Gilbert, much surprised. 

“ Who wishes to see him ?” 

“ We do,” said the colonel. “ We have been 
sent by order of the United States authorities 
to look him up and take him to Williamsburg. 
Our troops have captured several of the out- 
laws, and Gilbert Wooten is required that he 
may identify any among the prisoners who had 
a hand in the murders at Jamestown.” 

“Well, gentlemen, I am the man.” 

“You don’t say so!” exclaimed one of the 
officers. “ A devlish close squeeze you had, if 
reports at headquarters are true ; but ‘ a miss 
is as good as a mile,’ ” he continued, addressing 
the colonel. 

“ Yes ; but I understand this man was badly 
wounded, and only saved his life by a hair’s 
breadth,” replied the colonel. 


140 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


“ Right you are, sir,’' said Gilbert. “ Had it 
not been for the kindness of others, I should 
have died.” 

“You are wanted at once,” said the colonel ; 
“ and, if you will get ready, we will soon run 
down the river. The prisoners are under guard, 
and were captured at an old mill yesterday. 
They do not know that you are alive and will 
appear before the courtmartial against them.” 

“ How did you learn of my escape and my 
whereabouts?” inquired Gilbert. 

“ A flag of truce message from the Southern 
lines a few days ago brought us the in- 
formation ; besides, you had notified one of our 
generals of your location when asking for pro- 
tection from marauders. As it is the especial 
dutyof our forces to maintain order in the dis- 
trict we occupy, we at once acted on the case 
and have caught some of the outlaws.” 

“ It was a horrible affair — a sight I hope 
never to witness again,” said Gilbert. 

“ I do not doubt it,” replied the colonel. “The 
blacks seem to think that they have the right to 
rob and murder whom they will, but our gov- 
ernment is determined to prove to them that 
such is not the case. Even should freedom to 
the slaves be the result of this war, that free- 
dom does not mean, or is it intended to confer 


CAPTURE OF THE OUTLAWS. 


141 


on them, the right to break any military or 
civil law.” 

“ How many have been captured ? ” inquired 
Gilbert. 

“ I do not know, but there are several, all of 
whom protest their innocence,” replied the 
officer. 

“ I can identify the men as soon as I see 
them,” said Gilbert. 

“ It is now eight o’clock. We must report at 
Williamsburg at noon. Are you ready?” in- 
quired the colonel. 

“ I have no one here to see to things. When 
can I return ? ” asked Gilbert. 

“ By sunset,” was the response. 

I will lock my doors,” said Gilbert. And 
having gone through with this habit, and throw- 
ing his great-coat about him, said : I am 
ready.” 

In a few minutes the gunboat was under way, 
heading for Jamestown, and soon Gilbert would 
again cross the bridge from the rail of which he 
had seen his luckless friends tossed to a watery 
grave. When the party landed an ambulance 
was waiting to receive them, and they were 
quickly driven over the eight miles to Williams- 
burg behind a splendid pair of government 
horses. On the way Gilbert pointed out the 


142 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


Spot where he fell, the route he had taken to 
evade pursuers and the Neck of Land mansion, 
in which all had been tried and condemned 
without being present at the hearing. Their 
destination reached, the colonel reported his 
arrival, accompanied by Gilbert, and soon the 
prisoners were marched before the military 
court. Gilbert was seated in an ante-room of 
the court house while the prisoners were being 
arraigned, and as each pleaded not guilty to 
the charge and defied the court to establish 
their identity or produce any evidence against 
them, the judge said : “Call Gilbert Wooten.” 
At the sound of that name one of the prisoners 
fell prone to the floor. Gilbert entered as the 
fallen outlaw was rising to his feet again, and, 
looking straight in the faces of the guilty 
wretches, who stood trembling before his gaze, 
exclaimed : “ Well, George, you and the 

preacher don’t seem to be so brave as you were 
when last we met !” Turning to the court, he 
continued ; “ This is George Bright, the leader 
of the band of cut-throats, and this,” pointing to 
the man beside George, “is Winfield Brown, 
preacher, who passed sentence of death on Sir 
John Shriver, Algernon and George Graves and 
myself. The other man I identify as one who 
.shot me, but his name I do not know.” 


CAPTURE OF THE OUTLAWS. 


143 


Are you quite sure ? ” inquired the court. 
“Upon your identification hangs the lives of 
these men.” 

“ I am certain, sir,” said Gilbert. “ I have 
known George Bright from his boyhood, and 
the preacher, Brown, for a number of years. 
As to the other man, I never saw him until 
the day on which he attempted to murder 
me. You have caught the right parties, 
but there are more of them. I hope none 
may escape.” 

The three men were marched from the court 
under heavy guard and closely confined until 
arrangements could be made to transfer them 
to the Confederate outpost. 

It will be recalled that these men had broken 
the criminal law of the State of Virginia, not a 
Federal law, and therefore were subject to trial 
before a State court. None being in the section 
where the crime was committed, it was under- 
stood between the Union and Confederate au- 
thorities that should the former apprehend the 
offenders, they should be turned over to the 
Confederates, who in turn would deliver them 
to the Virginia officers at Richmond for trial, 
the conditions being that should the prisoners 
be condemned to death a certificate of their 
execution should be delivered to the United 


144 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


States authorities, which might convince the 
British Minister that prompt measures had been 
taken to punish those who had butchered Sir 
John Shriver, the English subject 

Gilbert returned to Claremont the same day, 
arriving just as the sun went down. His brief 
stay at Williamsburg was not without good re- 
sults looking to his own future. He had met 
and conversed with officers of rank. True, his 
acquaintance was very limited, but should fate 
ever throw him in a position where an appeal 
to them might serve a purpose he would have 
no hesitation in seeking them. At the expira- 
tion of a week’s time Gilbert was summoned to 
Richmond to appear before the criminal court 
of that city. The prisoners had been escorted 
up the Peninsula by a squad of Union infantry 
and duly turned over to the Confederates. 
Safely the murderers were delivered to the 
proper tribunal and a special jury had indicted 
them all for murder. The day of trial had 
been fixed, and the government awaited the 
arrival of Gilbert, the man who had “ arisen 
from the dead,” as one of the outlaws ex- 
pressed it. 

In due season Gilbert made his appearance 
on the streets of the Confederate capital, and 
when his name was called before the court, 


CAPTURE OF THE OUTLAWS. 


145 


answered “ Here.” Great was the curiosity of 
the throng who hung about the court room to 
hear the story of the crime, and when this 
straightforward colored man had narrated the 
details it was with difficulty the crowd could be 
restrained by the officers from doing violence 
to the inhuman wretches who occupied the 
prisoners’ dock. All three were found guilty 
and were sentenced to be hanged, which 
sentence was executed without delay. Certifi- 
cates under the seal of Virginia were then for- 
warded to the Union lines and there delivered 
to the representatives of the Federal govern- 
ment. 

Thus ended the great tragedy; but a les- 
son had been taught and learned by all who 
were inclined to take advantage of the hostil- 
ities existing between the sections. It had been 
clearly demonstrated that while nations may 
wage war against each other, it is done in 
accordance with the rules of war and the 
dictates of humanity ; that no part of a Chris- 
tian civilization would tolerate the deliberate 
killing of non-combatants who entertained 
sentiments opposed to the powers surround- 
ing them. 

Once more we find Gilbert at Claremont, 
“a sort of man of both sides” in the strife 


146 


gilbert; or, then and now. 


going on. He had certainly rendered service 
within the lines of both combatants, and be- 
came known far and near. “ I am glad it is 
over with,” he said, on his return from Rich- 
mond. “ The crime they committed has been 
avenged, and I am satisfied.” 


CHAPTER XI. 

GILBERT AND THE SPY. 

E shall hurry over the remaining years of 



V V the Civil War, as that period of American 
history is so familiar to those of the present day 
that it might be found out of place in a work of 
this nature. The struggling death throes of the 
Confederate cause were apparent to all. Only 
a question of time and the men who had so 
valiantly withstood the great thrusts of their 
unlimited antagonists must succumb to the 
inevitable. Heroism counted for nothing when 
pitted against such overwhelming numbers and 
resources. A few more months and the curtain 
would fall upon the greatest national military 
drama ever known to civilization. That the end 
was nigh all knew, and those who were left at 
home began to look around them in anticipation 
of adapting themselves to that new condition of 
things which must necessarily be inaugurated. 

For a year before this crisis had been reached 
Gilbert nominally lived at Claremont, but was 
not always to be found at home. This man, 
who instinctively had an eye to business, had 


148 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


found plenty of lucrative, as well as exciting, 
employment to occupy his time. He had 
become a blockade runner ; a go-between for 
Federals and Confederates ; had harbored spies 
and fed Confederate scouts, and deserters from 
both lines. On one occasion he had been the 
means of saving from capture two companies of 
Federal troops, and on another warned a body 
of Confederates of their danger and safely led 
them out of a trap the Union cavalry had set 
for them. These incidents we shall unfold as 
showing the wonderful resources of the man and 
to prove his declaration that he felt sorry for the 
unfortunate of both sides, and should do all in 
his power to alleviate distress. The location of 
Claremont, as it related to the section occupied 
by the contending forces during the summer and 
winter of 1864, was most advantageous in pro- 
moting the interests of Gilbert Wooten. True, 
Claremont, was in the rear of Grant’s army, 
swarming about Petersburg and on the Pen- 
insula, but this occupation by the Federals did 
not prevent the Confederates from making hasty 
raids in that vicinity. Gilbert was on good 
terms with the officers and men of both sides 
and did a deal of trading with them. If with 
the Confederates he would accept the Southern 
currency, or vice versa. With Confederate 


GILBERT AND THE SPY. 


149 


script he would purchase such eatables as the 
Federals desired and received in payment 
greenbacks. With these he would buy gold, 
which he was careful to safely store away. 

Going towards the landing one morning 
. on his way to cross the river to purchase 
from a Union camp sutler supplies, which 
were intended for several officers of rank in the 
Confederate army, he was unexpectedly accosted 
by a man dressed in the uniform of a Federal, 
but wearing over it a Confederate gray over- 
coat. The man seemed excited, looked weary, 
and the events of an hour later proved that he 
was very hungry. It was early morning, the 
sun had not yet risen above the tops of the trees, 
and the calm September air was fragrant with 
the odor of ripening fruit. Looking about him 
as if suspecting some one was looking and lis- 
tening, the stranger came close to Gilbert, who 
had paused at his approach, and said : 

“Is this Gilbert whom I am addressing ? ” 
I “Yes, sir,” replied Gilbert, as he put down his 
basket and bag, which he had taken along with 
him in which to place the stores he intended to 
purchase from the sutler. “ Can I be of service 
to you ? ” 

“ Indeed you can.” 

“ In what way ? may I ask,” replied Gilbert. 


160 


GILBERT : OR, THEN AND NOW. 


“ Well, hide me first from possible detection, 
and then I will tell you,” said the stranger. 

“ A deserter from the Union lines in front of 
Petersburg,” murmured Gilbert, sotto voce; 
“ but he is human, and if he is in trouble I shall 
not turn him away.” 

Looking at the stranger for a moment as if 
undetermined, Gilbert said : “ Come with me,” 
and, leading the way, he escorted the stranger 
to the attic chamber of the mansion house, which 
was well furnished and lighted. “ Now, sir, you 
are safe from detection. What can I do for 
you ? ” Gilbert inquired, 

“ Keep me safely until I am ready to leave, 
then put me safely across the river that I may 
find my way to Hampton, and I will pay you 
two hundred dollars,” he replied. 

“That is business. I will do it. Just stay in 
this room until I return, which will not be later 
than ten o’clock, and I will see you again.” 

“ But may I not breakfast before you return ? ” 
asked the stranger. “ I have not tasted food 
for two days,” he declared. 

“ Bless my soul ! you must be very hungry. 
I will have Dinah, my trusted cook, prepare 
you a hearty meal, which she will serve in this 
room. Don’t be suspicious, sir ; you will not be 
the first person she has waited on in this room.” 


GILBERT AND THE SPY. 


151 


“ Only I do not wish my presence here to 
become known,” replied the stranger. 

‘‘No danger, sir. The woman is not like 
most women. She never talks, but just keeps 
up a mighty thinking.” 

“That is something unusual in her sex,” 
pleasantly replied the stranger ; “ but I suppose 
you have trained her, eh?” 

“She can be trusted, sir,” was the only re- 
sponse. 

Taking from an inner pocket a buckskin 
pouch the man drew therefrom five ten dollar 
gold pieces, and he handed them to Gilbert with 
the remark, “ Keep me well and see me safely 
across the mouth of the Chickahominy, when 
I am ready to go, and the one hundred and fifty 
more are yours.” 

“ I will do as I agreed,” replied Gilbert, as he 
took the coin and placed it in his pocket ; “ but 
you must excuse me now. Just make yourself 
easy, and by and by your breakfast will be 
served.” Gilbert left the chamber, and, having 
given Dinah the necessary instructions, walked 
for the second time towards the landing place. 
Just as he was about to enter his boat, he 
was hailed by a squad of horsemen who came 
dashing along the track. 

“ Hello, Gilbert ! ” exclaimed one. “ Have 


152 


gilbert; or, then and now. 


you seen a stranger about these parts lately?” 

Looking up Gilbert recognized a lieutenant 
of Confederate cavalry whom he well knew. 
“ That’s a queer question, lieutenant,” he laugh- 
ingly replied. “ I see strangers most every day, 
sir, and I am sure you know it.” 

“True,” responded the officer, reining his 
horse close beside the boat, by which Gilbert 
was standing. “ But I mean one who is dressed 
in a Yankee uniform and a Confederate over- 
coat.” 

In an instant Gilbert scented trouble, but he 
had no idea of betraying the man. “ I see so 
many queerly dressed men, it is hard for me to 
keep the run of them,” was his evasive 
response. 

“ Well, should you see such a fellow prowling 
about here, let us know in the morning. We 
are looking for him. We are certain he has 
not crossed the river and I have orders to 
capture him dead or alive. And, by the way, 
Gilbert, have you got anything to drink ? ” 

Producing a canteen filled with whiskey, 
Gilbert remarked, “ Here is some good old rye, 
lieutenant. Help yourself, sir.” 

Seizing the canteen the officer took a deep 
draught and passed it round among his men, 
with the remark, “ Gilbert, you beat the devil. 


GILBERT AND THE SPY. 


153 


You cater to Yank and Reb alike, but you are 
‘ foxy ’ with all that. Had you seen the fellow we 
are after you would never let on, and I know it ; 
but as we have information that he has been 
seen further down the country, we are satisfied 
he is not about Claremont.” Then, tossing a 
ten-dollar Confederate note to Gilbert, the 
lieutenant remarked : “ I guess that is sufficient 
to pay for the stuff we drank,” and, wheeling 
their horses, the party set out down the shore. 
Gilbert looked after the horsemen until they 
appeared a mere speck, and then remarked: 
“ Well, if you had been half an hour earlier 
most likely I would not have had this fifty 
dollars in gold.” Then, jumping in his boat, 
he rowed for the opposite side of the James. 

While Gilbert is absent trading with the 
Yankee sutler, we will return to the mansion 
attic chamber and catch a glimpse of its occu- 
pant. Seated near a small table, with a field map 
in front of him, we find the stranger deeply 
interested in tracing out various lines and mak- 
ing notes of the direction which they indicate. 
He is a fine-looking fellow of about thirty years 
of age with a bright and intelligent face, keen, 
hazel eyes and hair of a deep brown. At a 
glance one may see that he is no ordinary per- 
son, although plainly attempting to conceal his 


154 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


identity and natural appearance. He had been 
dodging about for more than a week past 
attempting to evade his pursuers, sleeping in 
the bramble by day and marching and counter- 
marching by night. But withal he looks like a 
jolly good fellow, and doubtless could entertain 
one immensely would he talk ; but that firm 
determination depicted on his countenance for- 
bade any one from prying into his affairs by 
asking questions. The footsteps of Dinah 
attract his attention, and, flinging his map and 
note book quickly to one side, he hastened to 
open the door to admit her. “ Good morning!” 
he exclaimed, as Dinah came forward, bearing 
a tray containing an ample and tempting break- 
fast. “ I had rather see you than General Grant 
this morning. Not a morsel have I tasted, for 
two days, cook. What do you think of that ?” 

“ I thinks you must be hungry shuah,” replied 
Dinah in a matter-of-fact way, and, placing the 
food before him, she retreated to the door. 
“ ril bring your dinnah at one o’clock,” she said, 
then left without another word. 

“ She needn’t have been in such a hurry,” 
remarked the stranger ; “but so long as she has 
left me this tempting breakfast. I’ll forgive 
her.” Then straightway he fell to devouring 
the viands. Promptly at ten o’clock Gilbert 


GILBERT AND THE SPY. 156 

returned from the sutler’s camp, his little boat 
laden with whiskey, sugar, coffee and such lux- 
uries as could not be procured readily by the 
Confederates. These articles he was to convey 
to them at their picket post, near the Black- 
water, and receive payment in Confederate 
currency. With this he would buy tobacco, 
vegetables and the like, and next day he would 
dispose of his produce across the river, receiv- 
ing greenbacks in exchange. Thus he drove a 
‘-hriving business and, at war prices, accumu- 
lated money rapidly. Securing his boat and 
merchandise he bethought him of the mysteri- 
ous guest in the attic chamber, and straightway 
called on him. 

Well, you have gotten back. I hope you 
had a pleasant trip over to the camp,” said the 
stranger. 

This remark completely nonplussed Gilbert 
for a moment, but, recovering himself, he 
inquired, “ How did you know where I had 
been ? I am certain I did not say where I was 
going.” 

“ Easiest thing in the world,” replied the 
other. “I saw you from my window, both 
going and returning.” 

“ Did you see anybody else ? ” Gilbert asked, 
facetiously. 


156 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


“Yes, I saw a lieutenant and six men — Con- 
federates — and I am mighty glad they con- 
cluded not to make a search of Claremont.” 

“ They did have an idea of doing so, but I 
gave them no encouragement and they went 
on.” 

“ What or whom did they wish to find ? ” 

“ I should say they were looking for a man 
just about your size and appearance,” Gilbert 
replied, looking keenly in the stranger’s eye. 
“ Now, tell me,” he continued, “ who are you, 
where from, and what are you doing here? ” 
The stranger, in the most unconcerned man- 
ner, replied : “ Gilbert, I know you better than 
you do yourself. If I did not I would not have 
risked my precious neck by being here at this 
hour. It really matters not to you who I am, 
from whence came is of no consequence, and 
as to my destination — well, that is not any of 
your business. Enough that I have bargained 
with you to keep me — maybe three days, or 
perhaps as many weeks — and then you are to 
set me across the river. I do not wish to be 
seen by any person but yourself and cook, nor 
must any other know that I am here.” 

“ Suppose some of your friends should be look- 
ing you up, what then ?” The stranger laughed 
heartily at this suggestion, and answered by 


GILBERT AND THE SPY. 


157 


saying : “I have no friends in this section who 
will inquire for me ; just see that my enemies 
are kept in the dark.” 

“Are you a Yank or Reb?” Gilbert 
inquired. “ It matters not to me, but I should 
like to know why the Confederates so particu- 
larly wish to find you. You are certainly one 
of two — a Confederate deserter or a Federal spy. 
I don’t know which you are, but I should be 
much surprised to learn that a Confederate 
deserter had so much gold about his clothes. 
However, be you whichever you may, you are 
safe here.” 

“I will enlighten you this far,” replied the 
stranger, “ and you may guess the rest. My 
name is Riley. During the past four weeks I 
have visited Washington, Richmond and Peters- 
burg ; have played poker with Confederate 
officers and drank good whiskey with Union 
generals. Somehow the Confederates seem to 
wish to see me again badly, but I have cut the 
acquaintance of the ‘ boys in gray,^ and to be 
rid of them I have been in hiding.” 

“ Umph ! umph ! ” exclaimed Gilbert. “ I see ! 
I see ! ” 

“ What do you see, eh ? ” responded Riley. 

“ I see in my mind a Union scout. Yes, 
scout, that is what they call ’em now ; they 


158 


gilbert; or, then and now. 


used to call ’em spies. I see a Union scout 
leaving Washington with orders to sneak into 
Richmond, then Petersburg, and to learn all 
about the Confederate force he can. To do 
this he must become acquainted with high offi- 
cers, play poker, drink whiskey, and be sociable 
generally. Then I see him on a dark night 
slyly attempting to pass the pickets, to slip into 
the lines of the Union forces, but he has been 
suspected, and when he is ordered to halt by 
the outpost guard, he runs into the bushes as a 
minnie ball whistles by his head. But he is not 
safe. The alarm has been given and the Con- 
federate scouts, who are between him and the 
Federal lines, have been warned, and they are 
hunting every nook and corner to catch that 
Yankee before he can safely cross the James 
river. Now, Mr. Riley, do you think you know 
Gilbert better than he knows himself? One 
word from me and the Confederates would 
have you in less than an hour ; but do not be 
alarmed. Gilbert never goes back on his word.” 

Riley, who was just such a character as Gil- 
bert had drawn, looked up into the black face 
before him in amazement. He had been told 
by a Union sympathizer on the evening before 
to apply to Gilbert, but he had no idea of meet- 
ing so crafty a man. However, as Gilbert had 


GILBERT AND THE SPY. 


169 


read him so minutely, he determined to fully 
confide in him. 

“You must possess the power of second 
sight to be thus able to read the past. What if 
I fully confide in you, Gilbert ? ” 

“Just as you like, Mr. Riley ; I am ready to 
listen and to learn, but I never betray.” 

“ I am just what you described. For ten days 
I have been dodging the Confederates, who 
more than once came nigh capturing me. 
Should they do so my life must pay the penalty 
of being in the line of service I follow. Could I 
but reach Hampton I would be safe. The ques- 
tion is, how can I get across the James and 
Chickahominy rivers without being detected ? 
Twice have horsemen patroled the beach today 
— once while you were over the river, and this 
.morning when they spoke with you. It is dan- 
gerous to attempt it so long as they are so 
closely looking for me. I have very important 
papers for my government, which no Confed- 
erate must ever see.” 

“Stay where you are for a week or so, and 
maybe they’ll give up the hunt,” said Gilbert. 
“Anyhow, I will know when it will be safe to 
take you across the river. You see I have a 
special passport from both sides. All that is 
required of me is that I never see or know 


160 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


anything of what I observe while in the lines of 
either. I can pass you some dark night, so lay 
low and wait.” 

There was more risk in what Gilbert pro- 
posed doing for Riley than he really dreamed 
of, but, being honest himself, he equally con- 
fided in others until, alas ! he was taught a 
bitter lesson. So far as Riley was concerned, 
he was safe from interference by the Federals. 
His greatest danger was in being detected by 
the Confederates, who were terribly in earnest 
in their endeavor to catch Riley. General Lee 
would leave no stone unturned, and woe be 
unto any whom he believed aided this danger- 
ous man in reaching the Union lines safely. 

It has already been stated that Gilbert would 
remain neutral — that he only aided those in 
distress. Evidence of this was on file at the 
headquarters of both commanding generals, 
but neither had a suspicion of what a broad 
scope Gilbert included when he used the word 
“ distress.” It mattered not to him of what na- 
ture that distress consisted, he only had to learn 
that a man stood in need of assistance to pull 
him through, and Gilbert would render that 
service even should it result in wrecking the 
best laid plans of a campaign. 

Before nightfall of the day Riley arrived at 


GILBERT AND THE SPY. 


161 


Claremont, a Confederate deserter had peti- 
tioned aid. Both food and a bed were given him 
who was without the means to pay for it, as 
freely as they had been supplied Riley for the 
prospective two hundred dollars. These two 
men never met ; neither had any knowledge of 
the other being a guest of the same kindly host. 

Days passed successively until a week had 
been numbered with those gone before, and 
then something happened. A body of Federals, 
numbering two full companies, had been dis- 
patched from in front of Petersburg to intercept 
the Confederate scouts who were hanging 
closely about Grant’s rear, hoping to capture 
the man who was safely quartered in Gilbert’s 
attic ; but this movement had reached the ear 
of a famous Confederate cavalry general, and 
he had sent a regiment of his swiftest troopers 
to capture the Federal detail referred to. It so 
happened that Gilbert, who had been to the 
Confederate outpost on a trading expedition, 
learned of this movement, and on his way back 
to Claremont came up with the Federals, who 
were awaiting the possible arrival of the Con- 
federate scouts. 

“Halt!” was the challenge that greeted 
Gilbert from the side of the road. Who comes 
there?” 


162 


gilbert; or, then and now. 


Gilbert stood still and replied, “ Friend.’^ 

An officer who happened near at once recog- 
nized Gilbert, and exclaimed, “ Where now, 
Gilbert?” 

Although Gilbert did not recognize the 
officer, he at once replied, “ Claremont, sir.” 

” Have you seen any Johnnies outside their 
lines to-day? ” questioned the officer. 

That query struck Gilbert as being singularly 
put, and he answered by inquiring, “ Who are 
you, sir?” 

“ Why, Gilbert, don’t you know me ? ” 

Then Gilbert recognized Lieutenant Swain, 
whom he had entertained at Claremont more 
than once. ‘‘Well, lieutenant, in answer to 
your question, I should advise you to get out 
of this place at once. I have seen Confederates 
outside their lines to-day.” 

“ Were they scouts ? ” 

‘‘Yes,” replied Gilbert, “they were getting 
ready to scout for you and there are a 
thousand of them.” 

“We were ordered to go into ambush 
at this point and intercept a small body of 
cavalry who have been dogging the footsteps 
of one of our trusted specials,” replied the 
lieutenant. 

“ And a thousand of Stuart’s men will inter- 


gilbert and the spy. 


163 


cept and capture or kill every one of you before 
dark if you remain/’ replied Gilbert. “ But, so 
long, lieutenant ; you know your duty better 
than 1.” And Gilbert passed on without 
another word being spoken. 

Lieutenant Swain, who knew that Gilbert 
was reliable, determined to heed his advice, 
and in so doing was just in the nick of time to 
save his whole command from capture. The 
Confederates never learned how their approach 
reached the Federals, but they were much dis- 
appointed at the failure of their expedition. 
Lieutenant Swain did not fail to report this 
valuable service, nor did the Federal com- 
mander forget it. The failure of the Federals 
gave the Confederates unlimited time in which 
to pursue their search for Riley, and for two 
weeks more they persisted in their endeavor to 
locate “ the spy,” as they all termed him. 
Finding at last that it was folly to longer waste 
their time — every moment, too, jeopardizing 
the lives of their men — they returned within 
their lines about Petersburg. 

Riley had been the guest of Gilbert for more 
than three weeks. Only after nightfall had he 
left the attic chamber for a moment, and even 
then just long enough for exercise. Daily, 
during his long enforced confinement, he had 


164 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


watched from his window the movements of the 
Confederates, but always in such a concealed 
position they could not detect him. Twice since 
his stay at Claremont had several of his pur- 
suers found shelter under the same roof with 
him, being, however, entertained on a lower 
floor of the commodious old mansion. He had 
listened to their revelry, been touched by the 
pathos of the sentimental war songs they had 
sung, and longed to enjoy some of the anec- 
dotes which they interchanged. How strange 
is war and its vicissitudes ! Friend and foe, in 
many instances, sympathizing one with another, 
and still ready to slay and be slain. 

“ I think we might risk it to-night, Mr. Riley,” 
said Gilbert, entering the apartment where the 
scout lay prone on his bed, reading a novel, 
supplied from the Allen library. “The 
Southerners have given up the search and there 
are none around to-day. Be ready at eight 
o’clock this evening, as I wish to leave the 
shore before the rise of the moon.” 

“All right, Gilbert.” 

“ I shall come for you, ” replied Gilbert. 

“I was thinking,” said Riley, “that to guard 
against all emergencies I would exchange my 
uniform and rebel overcoat with you, taking a 
cast-off suit of yours instead. Then, should we 


ClLBERT AND THE SPY. 


166 


be discovered, there would be but little likeli- 
hood of our being molested.” 

“ I see,” laughingly responded Gilbert. “Just 
as you think best,” he continued. 

“ I had rather do so. I would not be captured 
for a million. Not only on account of my neck, 
but I hold the key to the door which may 
unlock the entrance to Petersburg, and that 
key I wish to safely deliver to my govern- 
ment.” 

“ I will look up a suitable rig for you,” 
replied Gilbert who, leaving the attic, went 
down stairs to the dressing room heretofore 
occupied by Major Allen, and soon returned 
with an old suit of cast-off clothing originally 
worn by the great landowner. “ I guess these 
will fill the bill,” he said, “ and, Mr. Riley, you 
may feel yourself highly honored by the priv- 
ilege of getting inside of the old clothes of the 
richest man in Virginia.” 

“ I shall feel flattered, indeed,” good naturedly 
responded the scout, as he began to divest him- 
self of his uniform. Donning the civilian’s suit, 
which was nearly double his size, he turned to 
Gilbert, who stood by, much amazed, and ex- 
claimed : “ Behold the millionaire ! ” It was cer- 
tainly a comical figure this lithe and graceful 
young man cut in the suit of the distinguished 


166 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


prepossessor, but Riley cared nothing for ap- 
pearances. At eight sharp that evening Gilbert 
set out from the shore at Claremont, and by mid- 
night had safely landed Riley below the mouth 
of the Chickahominy. 

“ Gilbert,” said Riley at their parting, “ you 
have saved my life and rendered the Federal 
government a great service. We shall meet 
again, I hope. When this war ends, if I am 
living, I shall look you up. By the way, I am 
the son of Colonel Riley, United States quarter- 
master, stationed at Fortress Monroe.” 

“ I am glad I have been the means of saving 
your life, sir, but I had no intention of doing 
your government any great service. I am not 
in that line of business. I hope you may safely 
find your way to Hampton, and we may both 
live to see the end of the war and meet again. 
Good bye, sir,” he continued, as Riley placed 
in his hand one hundred and fifty dollars in 
gold. Riley shook Gilbert’s hand warmly as 
they parted, neither knowing that they would 
ever meet again. Gilbert returned to Claremont, 
reaching his home before daylight. Where 
Riley spent the night is only a matter of con- 
jecture. 


CHAPTER XII. 

GILBERT IN GENERAL BUTLER’S “ BULL PEN.” 

D uring the time Gilbert was catering to 
the troops of both armies Mary, his wife, 
was in Richmond with Major Allen’s family. 
Gilbert sometimes visited her, passing in and 
out of the Confederate lines without being mo- 
lested. He was singularly fortunate in this 
respect, not only having a pass, but he was also 
known and recognized as the superintendent of 
Major Allen’s Claremont estate. Not alone was 
Gilbert fortunate, but likewise the Allen house- 
hold. All the wealth of the Indies could not 
procure certain luxuries within the lines of the 
Confederacy, and these were supplied by this 
thoughtful man. Reaching Richmond on one 
of his trips, upon going to the Allen residence 
with a large sack over his shoulder, he pre- 
sented it to Mrs. Allen, who had just warmly 
greeted him, with the remark : “ Some little 
things for you and the children, missus.” 

Gilbert, you are a jewel I ” earnestly ex- 
claimed that lady. ” What is in this ponderous 
bag, pray?” 


168 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


“ I guess you and Mary can find out if you 
only look,” he replied, with a laugh. 

“ Don’t be foolish, Gilbert,” said Mary, who 
had dropped to her knees and began to loosen 
its mouth. ” Why don’t you tell missus what 
you have brought her ? ” 

“Open the sack, why don’t you, woman? 
Fm a- thinking you are more anxious to know 
than your missus.” And he laughed heartily at 
the excited curiosity depicted on the counte- 
nance of his wife. 

The sack was at last opened and its contents 
displayed. Mrs. Allen’s delight was not con- 
cealed. There was coffee, tea, spices, needles, 
spools of thread, ladies’ hose and other articles 
of wearing apparel, peculiar to the requirements 
of women, in abundance. 

“ How did you manage to get so much in 
one sack?” exclaimed Mrs. Allen. 

“ I guess I must have stretched it, missus,” 
he replied. 

In a day or two Gilbert returned to Clare- 
mont, having passed through Petersburg and 
thence to the rear of the Union lines. It hap- 
pened about this time that the Federals were 
making preparations to go into winter quarters 
and sawed lumber was in great demand. A 
few miles in the interior from Claremont stood 


GILBERT IN GENERAL BUTLER* S “ BULL PEN.” 169 


a saw mill belonging to Major Allen, but 
which had not been in operation for some 
time. Its location had reached the ear of 
the Federal commander, and a body of men 
was dispatched to Claremont to remove the 
plant to the vicinity of City Point, to be used 
in the manufacture of the needed boards so 
much desired by General Grant’s troops. 

This detail, with all facilities for the removal 
of the mill, arrived at Claremont about the same 
hour that Gilbert returned from Richmond, and, 
strange as the coincidence may appear. Lieu- 
tenant Swain was in command of the expe- 
dition, accompanied by Lieutenant Brown, 
second in rank. It was several days before 
the ponderous machinery could be transported 
from its site and safely loaded aboard the 
scows used to convey it up the James, and 
during their stay about Claremont the two 
Federal officers were the guests of Gilbert 
Wooten. 

As has already been said, the Federal general 
had granted Gilbert a passport which enabled 
him to roam without molestation both on land 
and water. Of course, this special privilege 
was not transferable, but it seems that Gilbert 
did not clearly understand it so. Gilbert had a 
friend who occasionally ran the blockade — as 


170 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


passing through the lines without permission 
was termed — and through this friend Gilbert 
one day came to sudden grief. Desertions 
from the Union ranks had become alarmingly 
frequent during that bloody siege about Peters- 
burg, and the general was vigilant in his en- 
deavor to check it. Many had escaped, and it 
was reported that on a certain night some had 
been put across the river by Gilbert. This in- 
formation coming to the ears of General Butler, 
a detail was ordered to Claremont to arrest 
Gilbert and to bring him before the irate gen- 
eral ; but the detail failed to find Gilbert at 
Claremont. Scenting trouble, Gilbert evaded 
his pursuers, and, going to Fort Powhatan, sur- 
rendered himself to the commandant, thereby 
reaching General Butler’s headquarters before 
the troops returned. 

Being taken before the general, that officer 
exclaimed: “And you are Gilbert Wooten, the 
man represented to be neutral in this war I 
What do you mean by misusing the passports 
given you in the service of deserters from this 
army? ” 

“ I have not used my passports for any such 
purpose, general, nor did I convey any of your 
men over the river, as has been reported to 
you.” 


GILBERT IN GENERAL BUTI^ER’S “ TULL PEN.” 171 


The report General Butler had received 
from his pickets was seemingly straightforward. 
The man presenting the pass was a negro, and 
the name contained in the pass was “ Gilbert 
Wooten.” On the strength of this he had been 
given liberty to conduct the men outside the 
post line, and was seen to put them over the 
river. In the face of this damaging state of 
facts, the general doubted Gilbert’s story, and 
in his anger ordered him placed in the “ Bull 
Pen,” the enclosed stockade where deserters, 
suspects, bounty jumpers and army thieves 
were confined. 

What was Gilbert to do ? He had an idea 
as to how he had been drawn into this trouble, 
but not until he reached Butler’s headquarters 
did he have the most remote suspicion as to its 
possible consequences. He remembered that 
on one occasion he had been induced by a 
friend to loan him the passport in question. “ I 
shall only visit the sutler,” he had assured 
Gilbert, “and I will return it in the morn- 
ing.” 

Not thinking of the impropriety of allow- 
ing his passport to be used by anyone, as 
they must necessarily impersonate him, he had 
nevertheless foolishly permitted it to be done. 
The friend who was going to the sutler’s, saw 


172 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


an opportunity to earn a hundred dollars very 
readily, and, ignoring the embarrassment his 
act might inflict upon Gilbert should he be 
detected, transported the Union deserters across 
the river. Not one word of this did he lisp to 
Gilbert on his return. The passport had been 
restored with thanks, nothing more incidental 
to the trip being said. 

Days rolled into weeks and still Gilbert 
lingered in the Bull Pen, mingling with the 
worst elements of human society known to 
American civilization. His condition had 
become alarming. How long he should be 
compelled to remain thus confined before he 
would have another hearing granted him he 
knew not. None of his friends knew of his con- 
dition or whereabouts. Not even Dinah, down 
at Claremont, could account for his continued 
absence. “ Surely,’^ she had said, “ Gilbert must 
be dead ; he never would have stayed away so 
long if he were alive.’’ More than a month had 
glided by before Gilbert was notified that he 
must prepare to defend himself before the 
court martial which had been convened to pass 
upon the charge brought against him. 

“ When will my trial come on ? ” he inquired 
of the sergeant who had notified him. 

“ To-morrow morning, at lo o’clock sharp.” 


GILBERT IN GENERAL BUTLER* S “BULL PEN.” 


178 


“ And what is the charge against me ? ” Gil- 
bert asked. 

Aiding deserters to escape and proving 
false to the promise you made when a passport 
was granted you.’’ 

“ When did I do this, sergeant ? ” 

The allegation says on the night of October 
loth,” responded the officer. 

“ Is that so ? ” responded Gilbert. 

“Just so,” said the other, taking the original 
copy from his pocket. “ You can see for your- 
self.” 

“ It is unnecessary, sir. Can I be allowed to 
summon witnesses ? ” 

“ Certainly you can, and may. Whom do 
you wish? The deserters you rowed over the 
river ? ” 

“ No, sir. I wish Lieutenants Swain and 
Brown, of the regulars, summoned.” 

“Eh I the devil you do!” exclaimed the 
sergeant. 

“ Yes, sir,” replied Gilbert. 

“ Very well, they shall both be sent for,” the 
officer said, and moved away in the direction of 
the court’s quarters, leaving Gilbert peering 
after him through the crevices in the stockade. 

Gilbert was confident he would be acquitted 
of the charge of putting the deserters over the 


174 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


river if he could have the two officers present 
whom he had named, but what would be his 
fate as regarded the very foolish oversight in 
loaning his pass to his friend troubled him very 
much. There was no denying that part of the 
charge. The guard never would have known 
his name had not his pass been presented. He 
could only then acknowledge his indiscretion, 
disclaim any intention of doing wrong and 
throw himself on the mercy of the court. 

Promptly at ten o’clock on the following 
morning, Gilbert was escorted from the “ Pen ” 
to the prisoner’s dock, the court awaiting the 
arrival. This court was composed of officers 
of General Butler’s command, operating on the 
north bank of the Appomattox river, who 
appeared bedazzled and resplendent in their 
military uniforms, forming a striking contrast 
between the suit worn by the prisoner, who had 
not been allowed sufficient water in which to 
wash his face nor a change of garments for six 
long weeks. There were present the members 
of the picket detail to identify and testify 
against Gilbert, also the two officers whom 
Gilbert had named, neither of whom knew, 
until that hour, the cause of their presence, nor 
of the difficulty Gilbert had fallen into. Upon 
greeting Gilbert, Lieutenant Swain said : 


gilbert in general butler’s "BULL PEN.” 175 


“ I am surprised, Gilbert. What are you 
doing here ? ” 

“ That^s what I wish to learn, lieutenant.” 

“ How can I serve you, knowing nothing of 
the case or the charges against you?” 

“ Wait, sir ! I think you can pretty soon.” 

Upon being arraigned, Gilbert pleaded not 
guilty” to the charge read by the clerk. The 
advocate outlined the case against the prisoner 
and called the guard who had seen the men 
and passed them. When he had completed his 
testimony for the government Gilbert was 
asked if he had any questions to propound, and 
replied, I have.” 

“ When did you say this was ? ” inquired 
Gilbert. 

“ Between eight and nine o’clock, October 
loth, — evening.” 

‘‘You swear you saw me on that night, at 
that hour ? ” 

“Yes,” responded the guard. 

“ I have no further questions, ” said Gilbert. 

“ Have you any witnesses whom you wish to 
testify ? ” inquired the court. 

“ Yes, sir ; ” said Gilbert. “ I would call 
Lieutenants Swain and Brown.” 

Both of these officers looked surprised ; 
neither could see wherein they might be of 


176 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


service to Gilbert, however much they might 
be inclined to aid him. Some things had 
entirely escaped their memory, which, however, 
would soon be mentioned to refresh it 

“ Lieutenant Swain, where were you on the 
day and evening of October loth last?” in- 
quired Gilbert. 

I don’t recollect, but I can readily tell if I 
am permitted to consult my note book,” he 
replied. 

‘‘ You may do so,” said the court. 

Drawing his diary from his pocket the 
lieutenant hurriedly ran his eye down its 
pages, and then a light broke over his mental 
vision. 

“ I was at Claremont, removing a saw mill,” 
said the lieutenant. 

“ And who did you see at Claremont on the 
evening of that day? ” 

“ I saw you, Gilbert. Stopped with you from 
noon of that day until the following evening. 
I slept in the same room with you, and I will 
swear the guard is mistaken. It was impos- 
sible.” 

“ That is all, lieutenant. I thank you, sir, for 
coming here.” 

Lieutenant Brown corroborated every word 
his brother officer had said, and the court, the 


GILBERT IN GENERAL BUTLER’ S ' ‘ BULL PEN. ’ ’ 177 


guard and government advocate were dumb- 
founded. 

There certainly seems to have been some 
mistake here, may it please the court,” the 
prosecutor said. Clearly we cannot doubt 
the statement of two officers who have sworn 
so positively in this prisoner’s behalf.” 

There is a mistake, surely; but how could 
someone else get possession of Gilbert Wooten’s 
passport without his knowledge?” inquired 
the court. “ Can the prisoner throw any light 
on that question ? ” 

Gilbert, who had anticipated just such a 
question as the court had raised, stood up and 
said, “ I can explain the question asked by the 
court, and should like to do so if permission is 
granted me.” 

“ The court very much desires to hear your 
explanation and you will proceed.” 

Then Gilbert clearly and truthfully told the 
story of having loaned his passport to his friend, 
disclaiming any intention of wrongdoing, while 
admitting his thoughtlessness and ignorance 
that any possible wrong could have been com- 
mitted through his imprudence, until his arrest. 
He hoped the court would see that an error 
of judgment, not of intent, had been the cause 
of all the trouble which had befallen him. When 


178 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


Gilbert ceased speaking, Lieutenant Swain in- 
formed the court of the valuable service Gilbert 
had rendered some little while before, and with 
which the reader is familiar, reciting the inci- 
dent of the narrow escape of the companies 
sent to intercept the Confederate scouts and 
concluding by saying he did not believe that 
Gilbert had wilfully done wrong. 

“The first charge against the prisoner we 
find to be groundless,” said the court. “ On 
the second count we find him technically guilty, 
but suspend judgment,in recommending mercy. 
The prisoner is remanded until these proceed- 
ings and findings may be submitted to Major 
General Ord, commanding the Army of the 
James, in the absence of Major General Butler.” 

Gilbert went back to the Bull Pen. Next 
morning, however, he was taken before Gen- 
eral Ord, who, having heard his story, promptly 
dismissed the charge and set Gilbert at liberty. 
Gilbert at once returned to Claremont ; if not a 
happier man than when he left it, at least a much 
wiser one. 

So long had Gilbert been away from home 
that many who depended on him for supplies 
really suffered for the lack of them, and hailed 
his reappearance with unfeigned sincerity. But 
Gilbert had chafed greatly over his confinemet, 


gilbert in general butler’s “BULL PEN.” 179 


and sought other methods of business to make 
up for the loss of time and opportunity which 
had slipped away. It was winter. But little 
was going on at the front. Few troops were 
being manoeuvered by either side, hence busi- 
ness was dull at and around Claremont. 

With a store of Uncle Sam’s currency in his 
pocket, Gilbert hied him to Norfolk, where he 
embarked in the oyster trade for the remainder 
of the winter, returning to Claremont two 
months later. It was now the first of March. The 
long siege of Petersburg had greatly decimated 
the ranks of both armies. Particularly had the 
Confederates felt the hardships of the winter 
just passed. Only a little while longer could 
Lee’s army, now reduced to but a shadow of 
its former greatness, stand before the powerful 
forces of the Union. But in its desperation 
deeds were being enacted which added amaze- 
ment to the many surprises these indomitable 
troops had caused the Federals. 

A party of raiders had the hardihood to pen- 
etrate to the rear of Grant’s lines in search of 
supplies to feed the starving ranks of the South- 
ern heroes. So eager were they to accomplish 
the errand upon which they were intent that 
they became recklessly defiant. Naturally their 
movements had not escaped the vigilance of the 


180 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


Federal scouts, and a large body of troops had 
been sent to intercept and capture the entire 
party. They bivouaced very near Claremont 
for a night, while the Federals were close on 
their trail in vastly superior numbers. Gilbert 
had observed the light of their campfires from 
his home early in the evening, and when about 
midnight he was aroused by the tramp of horses 
and the rattle of sabres, he was certain the Fed- 
erals were hotly pursuing the Confederates, 
whose only mission was to procure subsist- 
ence. 

“ I won’t see that company captured if I can 
prevent it,” he muttered to himself. “There 
are enough Federals about here to eat ’em up. 
I shall warn ’em not to be about here when day- 
light comes,” he continued. Soon an officer 
rode up to Gilbert’s door and inquired if there 
had been any of the Confederates there during 
the day. 

“ I have seen none,” replied Gilbert. The 
officer inquired the location of the various roads 
leading from Claremont that finally merged 
into the pike over which any body of troops 
must pass in going towards Petersburg or the 
Blackwater. This question Gilbert answered 
in a satisfactory manner, when, turning to an 
aide, the commander gave orders to have 


GILBERT IN GENERAL BUTLERS “BULL PEN.” 181 


every road heavily picketed for the night and 
to allow the main body to go into camp for rest. 
“We have them in a trap ! ” he exclaimed, 
“and shall gather them in by daylight.” 

“ Not if I can prevent it,” said Gilbert to him- 
self ; and, closing his door behind him, re-en- 
tered his house as the Federal officer wheeled 
his horse and rode away. 

In less than five minutes Gilbert had left his 
domicile by a rear entrance, and, going swiftly 
along a by-path, evaded the Federal picket, 
and ere long he was hailed by the Confederate 
horsemen who was guarding the approach to 
the camp of his command. 

“ I am a friend,” replied Gilbert, in response 
to this challenge. “ Conduct me to your com- 
manding officer at once.” 

“ What^s up ? ” inquired the trooper. 

“ Never you mind. Just take me to your 
captain.” 

“ I will turn you over to the sergeant ” said 
the guard. 

In a few minutes Gilbert was standing before 
the commander. 

“ What is it, my man ? ” inquired the Con- 
federate captain. 

“You and your men are in a trap, and if 
you are not well away before daylight you will 


182 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


certainly be captured or killed 1 ” Gilbert then 
explained the situation in detail. 

“How may we escape if all of the roads are 
guarded ? inquired the Confederate. 

“ There is a bridle path running over the hill 
to the westward which will take you safely 
beyond the Federal outpost. Follow it and you 
are safe.” 

“ Can you not guide us ? ” 

“ Only far enough to see that you strike the 
path ; no farther.” 

The camp was at once quietly aroused, the 
pickets withdrawn, and noiselessly the little 
band moved away. 

“ Keep staight ahead,” said Gilbert, who had 
conducted them a few rods, “ and when you 
reach the pike turn to your right.” In an 
instant he was gone, and, moving rapidly over 
the path by which he had come, soon arrived 
at his door and went within. 

Daylight found the Federals preparing to 
move on the Confederate camp, blissfully igno- 
rant of the fact that their prey had eluded them 
and was well on the way to the Blackwater ford. 
Great was the Federal surprise when the dis- 
covery was made, but never once did they sus- 
pect that Gilbert had warned the Southerners. 

“ Well, that’s even now. I shan’t bother about 


GILBERT IN GENERAL BUTLKR’ S -‘BULL PEN.” 


188 


either side any more. If they get in any more 
traps they must get out without my help/’ Gil- 
bert declared, while carrying on a conversation 
with himself. The war is about over, anyway, 
and I thank Heaven for it,” he continued. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

RILEY’S GRATITUDE. 

HE last round of ammunition that brave 



1 and intrepid band of Confederates would 
ever fire had been exploded, and the cause 
they had so long and bravely defended, had 
been totally lost. Petersburg and its confines — 
the scenes of so many harrowing conflicts, the 
soil about which had so often been drenched 
with the life-blood of the chosen sons of the 
North and South — had been occupied by the 
Federal army for more than a week past, and 
now, after a hurried flight, ^mid desperate fight- 
ing on the way, the Army of Northern Virginia 
had laid down its arms and surrendered to the 
Union legions, among the hills of the Old Do- 
minion. Truly, the end of the conflict had 
come. No more would the “ Rebel ride on his 
raid,” but, weary, disheartened and chagrinned, 
return to his southern home with one and only 
one consoling thought — he had faithfully and 
desperately demonstrated the courage of his 
convictions. No human power could do more. 

Sweet Land of Liberty ” was being sung 


RILEY’ S GRATITUDE. 


186 


by the rejoicing millions of those whose shackles 
of bondage had been shattered, while hallalujahs 
to the Most High broke the stillness of the 
springtime air throughout the North — and even 
the South — as “Johnny” and “Yank” went 
^ marching home. 

The reader has been told that Gilbert had 
saved some money during the struggle. That 
which bore the impress of the Confederate 
States was as worthless as a last year’s almanac, 
but the gold and currency of the United States 
was good. 

At the time of Lee’s surrender the people of 
the South had been stripped of everything but 
their land. In the vicinity of Claremont pos- 
sibly there was less than ten dollars in United 
States money within a radius of as many 
miles, exclusive of any Gilbert might possess. 
Even the inhabitants of Richmond were money- 
less and helpless. Families born and reared 
amidst the choicest luxuries of life were penni- 
less, and, in many instances, without proper 
food or clothing. And now, as the only 
currency they had known for so long 
had become entirely valueless, great suffering 
was inevitable. 

Gilbert, in his quarters at Claremont, thought 
of these things and of his wife and children 


186 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


at Richmond as well as of Major Allen’s 
family. The perplexing question was how 
he could reach them. About the late capital 
city of the confederacy martial law had been 
strictly enforced. Those within its limits 
were not allowed to escape ; those without 
were not allowed to enter except by special 
permit. He knew none of the officers then 
in command ; and, therefore, saw no way of 
communicating with his friends within the 
environed city. Meanwhile both Major Allen’s 
family and his own might be suffering. Nor- 
folk having been occupied by the Union forces 
for two or more years, no objection was raised 
to any one visiting that city, and Gilbert 
thought of a plan by which he might possibly 
accomplish his great desire and find the means 
of communicating with his friends at Rich- 
mond. He would visit Fortress Monroe, where 
he might find Quartermaster Riley, whose son 
he had sheltered, and petition him for a pass 
to Richmond, and if it could not be granted, 
he might, at least, be permitted to send some 
money to his people. 

With this determination in his mind, he 
called to Dinah to serve his breakfast speed- 
ily. Suddenly over the surface of the James 
river resounded the boom of heavy ord- 


RILEY* S GRATITUDE. 


187 


nance. Gilbert started up with the exclama- 
tion, “ I thought the war was over I ” and, 
going to a convenient window saw that the 
colors of the war- vessels and the Union flag 
floated at half mast, while at intervals the 
deafening roar of canon plainly indicated that 
some dire calamity had followed closely at the 
heels of great rejoicing throughout the land. 

“ What can it mean ? Those are mourning 
guns as sure as I am alive,” he declared. 

Walking to the bank of the river, he watched 
the movements of the ships until one of them 
was in hailing distance. Gilbert lost no time 
in inquiring the meaning of the signal guns 
and was quickly informed of the assassination 
of President Lincoln. 

“ That deed,” he said to Dinah, on his return 
to the house after communicating the news, 
“ will cause the South more trouble than the 
killing of ten thousand ordinary men. But I 
don’t believe any Southern man had anything 
to do with it. Every brave man will regret 
the cowardly deed, and I am sure no white 
man I ever knew would be guilty of it ; but we 
shall see in good time.” 

“What, any of our folks ” — meaning the 
people of the South — “want ter do datfor?” 
exclaimed Dinah. “ Dey am got more sense 


188 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


dan ter do nothin’ of der kind; ner I don’t ble’ve 
nary one of dem dun it, nuther.” Having de- 
livered herself of this self-assertive speech, 
couched in her own choice vernacular, she con- 
tinued, “ Ain’t you gwine ter eat dat vit’uls, all 
gitting cold a waiting fer you ? ” 

Gilbert, heeding her suggestion, ate his meal, 
and said, as he completed his repast : “ Dinah, 
I shall attempt to get to Norfolk to-day if I can. 
Take care of yourself until I get back.” 

“Ain’t gwine ter get catched in er nudder 
‘ Bull Pen,’ I hope,” replied Dinah, looking at 
Gilbert inquisitively. 

“ I guess not,” responded Gilbert. 

An hour later Gilbert might have been seen 
sailing down the James river. Soon Jamestown 
Island was passed, and the thought of his for- 
mer experience there flashed through his mind, 
causing him to shudder. Had the killing of his 
outing companions two or three years before by 
a band of deluded blacks been a greater sin 
than taking the life of the President of the 
United States by a fanatic? This question 
persistently suggested itself to him. Or did he 
who shot Mr. Lincoln have greater provocation 
than George Bright and his followers ? In the 
first instance nothing was to be gained. In the 
killing of the men at Jamestown the ignorant 


RILEY’ S GRATITUDE. 


189 


wretches who perpetrated the foul act did seem- 
ingly think that they were rendering a service 
which might advance their interest, looking to 
their final liberation. As Gilbert’s boat sped 
onward before a stiff breeze he pondered deeply 
on this question, and came to the conclusion 
that the destiny of man was not within his own 
keeping. 

For hours he sailed rapidly towards the 
mouth of the river, until now he could discern 
the slope of land known as Newport News. 
Again he was reminded of the past, and he 
thought of his earlier career. Of the time he 
had sojourned at this spot and of the evidence 
of his labor which would, doubtless, remain 
long after he had gone to his final rest. Ahead 
of him was plainly visible the dark green waters 
of Hampton Roads, upon whose surface floated 
hundreds of war vessels, transports and private 
craft ; and he thought of how powerless is man 
to avert a catastrophe, although surrounded 
with so many facilities for defense. Neither 
the army of a million trained veterans, nor all 
the naval forces of the Union had been suffi- 
cient to prevent the unnatural death of its 
chief magistrate. 

Glancing to the east, Gilbert now beheld the 
frowning ramparts of Fortress Monroe, brist- 


190 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


ling with heavy ordnance, less than a mile 
away, and heading his craft for the fort, soon 
reached the shore. 

It was yet several hours before the sun would 
set, and securing his craft, he wended his way 
inland to find, if possible, the object of his 
search. Inquiry elicited the information he so 
much desired, and, crossing beyond the walls 
of the fort he saw at a glance that the quarter- 
master’s department was located there. 

Pacing in front of a large building was a 
sentinel, who inquired of Gilbert whom he 
wished to see. 

“ Quartermaster Riley, sir.” 

“You will find him in his office; I think he 
is busy just now, but you can go in and see,” 
replied the guard. 

Following these instructions Gilbert entered 
a large outer office, where he discovered a 
number of others awaiting an opportunity to 
interview the quartermaster. Patiently he 
waited until his turn arrived, and he was 
called into the private office. 

“What can I do for you?” inquired the 
quartermaster. 

“Are you Quartermaster Riley?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Did you have a son?” 


RILEY’ S GRATITUDE. 


191 


“Yes,” replied the officer. “ I have a son who 
is now in this building. Do you know him?” 

At this instant the younger Riley entered the 
room, and at once recognized Gilbert. “ Father !” 
he exclaimed, “ this is the man who saved my 
life by keeping me hidden from the Confed- 
erates at Claremont ; ” and seizing Gilbert’s 
hand, he shook it warmly. The quartermaster, 
although much surprised, said : “ That being 
the case, you should never forget him. Fm 
not surprised at your warmth of reception.” 

After some little time consumed in general 
conversation, Gilbert said : “I have come to 
you, sir, asking a great favor.” 

“ If within my power I shall be pleased to 
grant it. Anyone who has done so much for 
my son deserves any favor I may be able to 
bestow.” 

“ I wish to go to Richmond, sir. I under- 
stand no one is allowed there without a permit 
just now, and my business is important. I 
came to see if you could assist me.” 

“ With the greatest pleasure. I will, and fur- 
nish you with transportation, too,” said the 
quartermaster. 

“ Have you any greenbacks, Gilbert,” in- 
quired young Riley, who had interjected this 
query during the conversation. 


192 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


“I have a little money, sir,’’ responded Gil- 
bert. 

“ Well, I tell you what to do. Go over to 
Hampton to-night and come back here early in 
the morning. Father will have your pass for 
you, also your transportation ticket on a gov- 
ernment boat, which leaves for Richmond at 
nine o’clock. Here, take this five to defray 
your expenses to-night, and I will see you in 
the morning.” 

Gilbert, highly pleased at his success in find- 
ing the elder Riley, was more gratified at seeing 
the son. 

Accepting the proffered bill, he arose to go, as 
night was coming on, and he must both secure 
his boat and find lodging two miles away before 
darkness set in. 

After Gilbert had left the office, Riley, senior, 
turned and said to his son: “You must do 
something handsome for that man, my son ; 
you owe him an everlasting debt of gratitude. 
But for him you would have been captured as 
sure as fate, and if so the evidence upon your 
person against you would have sealed your 
doom.” 

“ I shall not forget the debt I owe, sir,” re- 
sponded the son, “ and I hope to pay at least a 
portion of it in a practical way. I do not doubt 


RILEY’S GRATITUDE. 


193 


that money would be very acceptable to Gilbert 
just now.” 

“ Quite likely,” responded the father. “ These 
people have nothing left them, you know.” 

By the time the sun was fairly up next morn- 
ing Gilbert had arisen and was awaiting his 
breakfast at his hotel. He had slept but little 
during the night, so busy had been his thoughts. 
How fortunate he had been. And soon he 
would be on his way to Richmond to look after 
his wife and children, and at the same time do 
whatever he could for Major Allen, whom he 
was certain had as little ready capital as any- 
body else. Gilbert had several hundred dollars 
in his pocket, although from his remark to 
young Riley the evening before one would have 
been led to infer that he possessed much less. 
With this sum he felt confident he could relieve 
the pressing wants of the great landowner’s 
household, and the thought brought with it 
great consolation. Before eight o’clock he had 
reached the fort and gone directly to Colonel 
Riley’s office. 

“ Good morning, sir,” he said upon entering. 
” I hope I am not too early.” 

“ No, indeed,” responded the colonel. “ We 
have been expecting you.” Going over to his 
desk he took and handed to Gilbert a pass for 


194 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


an indefinite stay in Richmond, also transporta- 
tion to and from that city on any government 
steamer. “ I think those will see you through 
all right,” he pleasantly remarked. “ But be 
seated, my son wishes to see you before you 
leave. He will be in in a few minutes. How 
did you manage to secrete my son without 
ai^ousing the suspicions of the Confederates, 
Gilbert? It seems almost incredible to know 
that he was so near capture, which meant cer- 
tain death, and yet escaped without injury to a 
hair of his head.’ 

“I’ll tell you how I managed it. Colonel 
Riley. You will bear in mind I was on good 
terms with the Confederates as well as Federals. 
Many is the favor I did the Southerners which 
would have cost some of ’em their commissions 
and would sent others to the guardhouse to be 
later shot, most likely. They did not wish to 
get me in any trouble, so to prevent it, they 
never saw anything I did, nor looked closely to 
ascertain if I was up to anything. The very 
morning your son came to me, the Confederates 
were hot on his trail, and if he had found refuge 
in any other than my house they would have 
caught him as sure as fate. But the officer 
who had charge of the squad knew too much 
to search my place, though, to tell the truth, 


RILEY’ S GRATITUDE. 


196 


I think he suspected I knew where your son 
was.” 

Well, it was lucky for him, and I am thank- 
ful to you for the service you have rendered 
him and hope he may always remember it.” 

“Well, Fve gotten back I ” exclaimed young 
Riley, coming into the office at this moment. 
“ Ah, Gilbert, you are ahead of me ! ” 

“ Yes, sir; Fve been here several minutes.” 

“Your steamer leaves the pier earlier than 
we expected. I have just spoken with the 
captain. You have just half an hour in which 
to get aboard — no time to spare — but before 
you go I wish you to accept this sum of money 
as a token of appreciation of the great service 
you rendered me. No words of mine can ex- 
press the lasting indebtedness I am under to 
you. But for you I should have met death at 
the end of a rope.” He presented Gilbert with 
a roll of bills containing five hundred dollars. 

“ I don’t deserve this money, sir, half as 
much as you are pleased to think. In accept- 
ing it, allow me to return my most sincere 
thanks. It will come mighty handy just at 
this time,” replied Gilbert. 

“Don’t mention thanks!” exclaimed the colo- 
nel. “ I would not have had my son caught 
by the Confederates for a million.” 


196 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


“ He was a cool one,” replied Gilbert, rising. 

“ I suppose you must be off,” said young 
Riley. “ I will accompany you to the pier and 
introduce you to the captain of the steamer and 
the military officer in charge.” 

Colonel Riley shook hands warmly at parting 
with the black man who had rendered his son 
such valuable service, and in saying good bye, 
added : “ May you never live to see the day you 
lack for friends.” 

Gilbert was kindly received by the captain 
and military officer of the steamer, and was 
made very comfortable during the voyage to 
Richmond, which city he reached before dusk. 
Upon landing he started at once in the direction 
of Major Allen’s residence, but was halted 
several times on the way by the provost guard, 
who, however, upon examining his passport 
instantly allowed him to go on. 

Major Allen’s home was no inconsiderable 
distance from the landing place of the steamer, 
but thither Gilbert wended his way. It was 
after nightfall ; “the City of Hills ” was in abso- 
lute darkness. No lamps gleamed from the 
street corners to light the pedestrian on his way. 
Only an occasional beam appeared from a win - 
dow to tell the rambler that there was life within; 
almost chaotic darkness was the rule. The only 


RILEY’S GRATITUDE. 


197 


human beings visible were members of the in- 
vading army ; the only din heard was the clatter 
of the hoofs of the cavalry horses. Truly the 
Richmond of that hour was far different from 
what it had been only a few days before. 
Climbing the steps, Gilbert rang the bell of the 
Allen home. Within, all was darkness and he 
listened closely, fearing the premises were de- 
serted. Presently, from a window above, a 
voice inquired, “Who is there?” Welcome 
sound I It was that of Mary, his wife, and 
Gilbert immediately recognized it. “It is I, 
Gilbert,” he replied, when quickly the entrance 
door was unbarred, and Gilbert entered the ex- 
pansive hall of this old-fashioned city residence. 
Greetings between man and wife were ex- 
changed without the one being able to see the 
face of the other. The home of this rich Vir- 
ginian did not afford a single candle. 

“ Have you no lights, Mary ? ” Gilbert 
inquired. 

“ Not a candle in the house, nor a cent with 
which to buy one,” she replied. 

“ Can candles be found in the city?” 

“Yes, Gilbert ; the sutler, two blocks below, 
has plenty, but without money to pay for them 
they might as well be in China.” 

“Wait until I return,” he said, and then left 


198 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


the house. In a very short time he returned 
bearing a box of candles under his arm, and, 
handing them to Mary, exclaimed: “Strike a 
light ; I wish to see you all ! ” 

“ I used the last match this morning ; I can’t,’^ 
declared Mary. 

“ Oh, here are matches,” rejoined Gilbert. 

Soon two candles were brightly burning — 
genuine candles, not Southern “ dips ” to which 
the besieged inhabitants of the noted city 
had become accustomed. Gilbert could look 
around. 

“Where and how are all the folks?” he 
inquired. 

“ All up stairs and well. None of them know 
you are here. I will go up and tell master and 
missus. The children are asleep,” she ans- 
wered. Mary ascended two flights bearing a 
bright light in her hand, while a broad smile 
covered her ebony features. Opening the door 
to the Allen chamber wherein the Major and 
Mrs. Allen were conversing in total darkness, 
she exclaimed, “ Missus, who do you suppose 
has come?” 

“ Why, Mary 1 Where on earth did you get 
that candle? ” inquired both in one voice. 

“ Gilbert is down stairs. Missus. He went to 
the sutler’s and got the light.” 


RILEY S GRATITUDE. 


199 


‘'Gilbert here?” cried Major Allen, rising 
from his chair. “ I shall see him at once,” and 
he rushed down stairs two steps at a stride, 
Mrs. Allen and Mary following him. 

Never was there a more cordial greeting be- 
tween two friends than that between this white 
and black man. Such a greeting might find a 
suitable place on canvas. Words cannot ex- 
press what the features of either portrayed. 

“ Gilbert, where did you come from ? How 
did you get in the city ? How pass the guard ?” 
were some of the questions propounded in rapid 
succession by Major Allen, all the while hold- 
ing the hand of the man whose wife had been 
a slave from birth. 

“ Have you been to supper ? ” inquired Mrs. 
Allen. And then her face became suddenly 
suffused as she remembered that there was not 
a morsel of food in the house. 

“Yes, Missus,” replied Gilbert, “ I have had 
my supper ; but pardon me. Missus, have you 
had yours ? ” 

“ No, Gilbert, none of us have had a crumb 
to eat since morning — that is, no one but the 
children, each of whom had a cracker just before 
going to bed. I am as hungry as Satan and I 
am sure master and missus are, too,” said Mary. 

“ I guess I can find something,” replied 


200 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


Gilbert, and for the second time he left the 
house and visited the sutler’s tent. 

“ How do you suppose Gilbert succeeded in 
getting into Richmond, major?” asked Mrs. 
Allen. 

“ I haven’t the slightest idea,” he replied. 

“ It is very thoughtful in him to have come 
at this time anyway,” rejoined the lady. 

'' Yes, it is, indeed ; but I should as soon have 
expected to see the devil,” was the major’s re- 
sponse. “ Gilbert has a faculty about him for 
doing things, however, which few others pos- 
sess. What kind of a bluff he gave the Yankee 
provost the Lord only knows,” he continued. 

“Where has Gilbert gone now, Mary?” 
asked Mrs. Allen. 

“You wait, missus, there is no telling, but 
I’ll be bound that he will come back loaded 
down with more bundles than both you and I 
can carry.” Thus the Allen family conversed 
during the absence of Gilbert, whose stay was 
not prolonged beyond the time necessary to 
procure the refreshments he went out to buy. 

“ I’ll just go into the dining-room and set the 
table,” said Mary. “ There is no telling what 
Gilbert will bring.” 

“ Certainly nothing more than a light lunch 
to-night,” said the major, “ and,” he added. 


RILEY’S GRATITUDE. 


201 


“ that class of diet is about all I have been ac- 
customed to for some time.” 

The reader will understand that Major Allen 
had only reached Richmond that morning, and, 
under the terms of his parole, had been allowed 
to go to his home. He had at his command 
thousands, as represented by Confederate 
money, but not a penny of national currency in 
the world. On his arrival he had found his 
family in desperate circumstances. The city 
was without food, and its inhabitants were 
without the necessary means of buying from 
the United States sutlers, who were swarming 
within its limits. Preparations were being made 
by the military authorities to feed the people in 
order to avert a famine, which stared all, high 
and low, in the face. Even the major, whose 
real estate represented such vast wealth, was 
awaiting the hour when the charity of the foe 
he had so long opposed should alleviate the 
pangs of hunger gnawing at the vitals of his 
household. How strange is fate ! How true 
the adage, “Adversity makes strange bedfel- 
lows.” 

Gilbert came back literally loaded down. In- 
stead of the light lunch expected he had laid in 
a supply sufficient to feed a dozen hungry men. 

“Thank you,” he said to the attendant who 


202 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


aided him in bringing the great hamper-basket 
up the street. “ I can manage it now. There, 
take that for your trouble,” at the same time 
slipping a Yankee “ shin-plaster,” as the frac- 
tional paper currency was called, into the young 
man’s hand, “ and tell the sutler I shall call on 
him again soon.” 

‘‘ So do,” responded the enterprising Yankee 
lad, as he turned away and bade Gilbert good 
night, 

Gilbert lifted the heavy basket into the hall, 
where he consigned it to Mary, who had come 
forward to meet him. “ Take it to the dining- 
room, Mary,” he said. “ But stop I ” he quickly 
exclaimed, “ I wish that package on top,” and 
reaching down he seized a large paper box in 
which were two suspicious looking quart bottles, 
one labeled “ wine,” the other Kentucky Rye 
Whiskey.” “ Now you can go ahead,” he re- 
marked. After much exertion Mary succeeded 
in dragging the basket to the dining-hall, while 
Gilbert returned to the room in which he had 
left the Major and Mrs. Allen. 

“ I thought a little of this might not be un- 
acceptable, Major Allen,” he said, advancing, 
‘‘so I brought a little for you.” Then, turning 
to the mistress, he continued: “A bottle of 
wine for you, missus.” 


RILEY’S GRATITUDE. 


203 


“ Oh, thank you, Gilbert ; this is, indeed, a 
rare treat ! ” exclaimed the lady. “ Now, missus, 
if you will kindly see to Mary, I think you will 
find that she has enough lunch to supply all 
of us.’^ 

Mrs. Allen left the room. So did the major 
for a moment. “ Excuse me, Gilbert,” he said ; 
“ ril find a glass, and we will test the quality of 
this old rye.” In a minute he had returned 
Meantime Gilbert had removed the cork from 
the bottle, and Major William Allen took his 
first drink since Lee’s surrender, several days 
before. 

‘‘ Gilbert, this is prime,” he said, smacking 
his lips ; “ I wish we had a barrel of it.” Soon 
the major was summoned to the dining-room, 
where a surprise greeted him the like of which 
his eyes had not beheld for many a day. “ A 
feast fit for a king ! ” he exclaimed. 

“Not too good for you and missus,” re- 
sponded Gilbert, who had followed close behind 
him. 

After this delicious and much-needed repast 
had been partaken of the major and Gilbert re- 
tired to the library and conversed until midnight, 
discussing the new state of affairs and planning 
as to what had best be done at Claremont and 
his other plantations along the James river. 


204 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW, 


Bright and early on the morning following 
his arrival Gilbert quietly left the Allen home 
and “ gone to market,” as he later expressed it, 
long before its occupants were aroused. He 
had been told by his wife of the emptiness of 
the family larder the night before, and it was 
his intention to restock it if the articles required 
could be procured. In many instances his quest 
for the desired stores was a failure ; the articles 
were not to be had in Richmond for love nor 
money. But he succeeded in purchasing the 
essential necessaries of life before retracing his 
steps. That morning Major Allen’s family en- 
joyed the choicest breakfast they had partaken 
of for many days. 

“ How shall we ever be able to repay your 
kindness, Gilbert ? ” remarked Mrs. Allen on 
entering the breakfast room, where she found 
Gilbert waiting to serve the major and herself. 

“ This debt has been paid long ago, missus,” 
Gilbert responded. “ The kindness shown me 
by Major Allen and yourself all the years past 
and the care you have taken of my wife can 
never be paid for. Coming to your relief for a 
few days I don’t consider worth mentioning. 
Had I not done so I should never have forgiven 
myself, and I thank the good Lord that it lay 
in my power to do so.” 


RILEY’S GRATITUDE. 


205 


“ Hello, uncle Gilbert ! ” exclaimed the Allen 
children coming into the room. “We are so 
glad to see you.” In less than a minute two of 
the little ones had climbed to his knees as con- 
tented as kittens. 

“ I shall not remain long in the city,” said 
Gilbert to Major Allen. “ I think, sir, from our 
conversation last evening, that the sooner I get 
back to Claremont the better. If you will think 
over all you intend for me to see after, and 
acquaint me with your plans this evening, I 
shall return on the early steamer in the morn- 
ing.” 

“Shall you go so soon? ” asked the major. 

“ I think it best, sir. Besides, I wish to put 
everything in order before your family returns. 
When you are ready to come down the river, 
I can run up to the city for a day and help you 
pack up.” 

“ How about Mary ? Does she go with 
you?” 

“ No, sir ; not until your family comes down. 
I have been separated so much from her of late, 
I think I can spare her a little longer.” 

“That is certainly kind in you, Gilbert. You 
see all the other help left Mrs. Allen the day 
Lee surrendered, and I really don’t know what 
my wife would do should Mary go,” 


206 


gilbert; or, then and now. 


Thrusting his hand in his inner pocket, Gil- 
bert drew forth the ten crisp fifty dollar bills 
which young Riley had handed him the day 
before, and, presenting them, said : I beg your 
pardon, sir, but I am sure you could use these 
for the comfort of yourself and family, until 
things are straightened out, and it is my wish 
that you do so.” 

Major Allen was taken by surprise to see 
Gilbert so well supplied with ready money, and, 
touched by his kindly offer, could not restrain 
the tears of gratitude that sprang to his eyes. 

“ Don’t hesitate, sir ; help yourself,” said Gil- 
bert. “ I have more which you can have if you 
wish.” 

“No, Gilbert,” responded the major ; “ I shall 
not require so much until I can look about me. 
I will accept the loan of fifty for a few days ; 
that sum will be sufficient.” 

“ Take more, sir,” urged Gilbert. 

“No more. Should I require it, I shall call 
on you,” replied the major. 

Hence it will be seen that the first dollar 
Major Allen possessed at the close of the war, 
was advanced by Gilbert Wooten. On the fol- 
lowing morning Gilbert returned to Claremont, 
feeling assured that his friends in Richmond 
would not suffer. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

FLYING POINT. 

DIGRESSION from the thread of this 



work is made necessary by the new con- 
dition of things which confronted the subju- 
gated South at the period of which this story 
treats, and which compels us to beg the indul- 
gence of the reader. A comprehensive view of 
the situation is made imperative that all may 
readily understand and appreciate the position 
the whites and blacks occupied toward each 
other in their new relationship. 

Primarily, bear in mind that disorganization 
of the ante-bellum customs was complete, while 
pandemonium was the reigning feature which 
prevailed in all walks of life. The slave of yes- 
terday became the insolent, domineering equal 
of to-day, while the subdued master of the day 
before ground his teeth in silence, knowing not 
what course to pursue. Order had not yet 
been brought out of chaos. The political status 
of the territory which had so recently been in 
open opposition to the national authority had 
not been determined. It was a matter or 


208 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


speculation only as to what station in the affairs 
of the government the South would be allowed 
to assume. Nothing definite could be accom- 
plished until a reorganization of the organic 
law was changed to meet the existing exigen- 
cies. A military domination had supplanted 
the former code of Virginia, whose disheartened 
people silently awaited the consequences of the 
downfall of their cherished hopes. 

There seemed to exist in the minds of the 
whites a desire to reconcile themselves to 
the inevitable, but the thought of negro 
equality was a great stumbling block in the 
pathway of rapid progress towards reconstruc- 
tion and reform. Throughout the disorgan- 
ized sections thousands of blacks aimlessly 
roamed, helpless, homeless, shelterless, in many 
instances. It was a problem to be solved by 
cool and deliberate statesmanship as to what 
would be the better course to pursue. In the 
midst of all this uncertainty one feature became 
paramount. The aristocratic sons and daugh- 
ters of the Sunny South must go to work, and 
that right speedily. Without means to supply 
themselves with the necessary facilities for labor, 
they were compelled to accept the proffered 
commercial aid from their late antagonist, 
which, however, was offered in a spirit of hon- 


FLYING POINT. 


209 


orable conciliation and accepted with the grace 
becoming a despondent people. 

Once more the valleys of Tidewater, Virginia, 
began to assume their old-time prestige, and 
the song of the axeman and the appearance 
of the ploughman “homeward plodding his 
weary way” recalled the days of years be- 
fore and obscured the scars made by war’s 
devastating tread. But the man who fol- 
lowed the plough and he who wielded the 
axe was not the slave of yesterday. He 
who had ruled over the blacks had flung 
aside the implements of war, mastered and 
crushed his pride, and had girded about him 
the bands of honest toil. With few exceptions 
the blacks had formed the idea that they were 
the wards of the nation, and that the day of 
jubilee had come to stay with them forever. 
Dishonorable political satraps from the North 
had come among these ignorant children of 
nature, and by flattery and misrepresentation 
had puffed them up to a high degree of their 
self-importance. It was indeed a serious ques- 
tion. All the confidence the blacks had in 
former days placed in their late masters had 
given way to suspicious distrust. Impudence 
had supplanted humble courtesy, and to labor 
for a man whose complexion was white became, 


210 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


in the eyes of the hordes of idlers, a disgrace. 
No ; they would not work. Planters who had 
tilled the soil by the hundreds and thousands 
of acres found they must have recourse to 
other means. Large areas must be divided and 
subdivided. Mercantile operations must be 
substituted for agricultural pursuits. The great 
Claremont property fell under this head. Its 
vast forests of wooded land, studded with heavy 
timber, proved to be of more value than the 
arable acres which had been the pride of their 
owner and the envy of thousands. 

Timber of various kinds was in great demand, 
not only in the rebuilding of the decimated 
cities of the South, but at the North, and Will- 
iam Allen saw at a glance how readily he 
might recoup the great loss he had sustained 
in the emancipation of his army of slaves. Re- 
moving to Claremont from Richmond, he began 
operations, depending much upon the assist- 
ance of Gilbert Wooten, who had little sym- 
pathy in common with the idle blacks, and who 
was often heard to say, “ If they will not work 
they deserve to starve.” 

A year had passed quickly by since the close 
of the war, and prosperity reigned at Clare- 
mont. Heavy shipments of lumber had brought 
enormous returns, and Major Allen, with an 


FLYING POINT. 


211 


abundance of ready capital, had assumed his 
old-time prestige. Many of the harrowing 
scenes through which he, in common with all 
others of his section, had passed were for- 
gotten, and gaiety and mirth resounded through 
the ancestral halls of the old mansion house, 
which had been the scene of so many thrilling 
episodes during the past five years. Gilbert 
occupied the same quarters which had been 
the scene of so many pleasant hours before the 
war, and now, although Mary had returned, no 
longer a bondswoman, she was as loyal to Mrs. 
Allen as when that lady first came to Virginia 
the bride of wealth and station. The same 
devotion to the Allen children Mary had nur- 
tured for them in their infancy was exhibited, 
and the same pride expressed for the relation- 
ship she had always held toward them. ‘‘ If 
the idleness and poverty of most niggers now- 
a-days is all they will get by being set free,” 
she said, “ they had better go back into slavery. 
Certain they might get something to eat and to 
wear.” 

“ They seem to be enjoying themselves, ” 
replied Mrs. Allen, with whom Mary was con- 
versing. 

‘‘Enjoying themselves, missus? How can 
anyone enjoy themselves who hasn’t a place 


212 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


to sleep or a mouthful to eat, except they beg 
or steal?” 

Freedom is sweet, Mary.” 

Yes, marm ; but without independence I 
think it will soon sour.” 

The dawn of the “ New South ” spread its 
emblazoning rays of prosperous light far and 
wide as time rolled on. Even the emancipated 
blacks had, in a large majority of cases, been 
forced to the conclusion that they could not 
enjoy liberty without honest labor, and had 
most commendably gone to work. 

Gilbert had, in a measure, abandoned the 
vocation of carpenter, to become a woodsman. 
His labors were both arduous and responsible. 
Meantime, William Allen had relaxed his close 
attention to business, and once more indulged 
in such pleasures as wealth and station bring in 
their train. His business was in good hands, 
however, and he knew it. 

“Gilbert,” he one day said, “you were 
speaking to me of looking for a suitable habi- 
tation for yourself and family. I think I have 
just such a place as you wish.” 

“ Indeed, sir, I should be more than pleased to 
buy it, provided it lies within my means to do so.” 

“ It shall lie within your means,” was the 
emphatic response of Major Allen. 


FLYING POINT. 


218 


“Where is the land located, sir?” inquired 
Gilbert. 

“Just beyond the Claremont manor tract. 
That section of the estate known as ‘ Flying 
Point.’ ” 

“ Major Allen,” responded Gilbert, “ I have 
often wished I could buy that property, but 
never had an idea you would sell it.” 

“ I would not to anyone but you. Some day 
we will walk over it, and judge about what it 
is worth,” said the major. 

“Very good, sir. Nothing would give me 
more pleasure.” 

“To-morrow I shall sail down the river on 
my yacht to Jamestown, and from there visit 
Williamsburg, where I have important business. 
I shall return in a day or two, however, as Mrs. 
Allen and the children go to Richmond this 
morning for a week, and on my return you and 
I will go over to ‘ Flying Point.’ I spoke to 
Mrs. Allen about letting you have the property, 
and she agrees with me perfectly. She re- 
marked, ‘ It would be the very thing.’ ” 

“ The missus is very kind, sir ; and I thank 
you both,” replied Gilbert. 

“ Possibly you cannot pay all of the money 
down for the land. You know it is a very val- 
uable tract. But you shall have your own time 


214 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


to meet the debt, which shall not exceed one- 
half of what anyone else would be made to 
pay for it. Think the matter over, and be 
ready to accompany me the last of the week.” 

“ Shall be at your service, sir.” 

Major Allen turned from Gilbert and walked to 
the mansion to escort his family to the steamer 
which was to convey them to Richmond, 
leaving Gilbert to break the proposition to Mary, 
which he lost no time in doing. 

Bright and early the following morning the 
beautiful yacht, “ The Breeze,” with all sail set, 
was gliding swiftly through the waters of the 
noble river with her distinguished owner at the 
wheel. Soon the “ Four Mile Tree ” plantation 
came in sight, and the sad fate of its owner and 
others flashed through the mind of the major. 
“ How little we know of our destiny ! ” he ex- 
claimed. On plunged the yacht until the land- 
ing place at Jamestown, leading to Williams- 
burg, was reached, when, leaving his crew 
aboard “ The Breeze,” the major entered the 
carriage awaiting him and drove overland to 
the ancient city. The magnificent pair of bay 
horses sent to the landing to convey him were 
high spirited animals. Nothing delighted the 
major more than to sit behind such a team with 
the reins in his own hands, and he determined 


PLYING POINT, 


215 


that he would do the driving on his return that 
afternoon. 

As he stepped into the vehicle, about which 
stood his friends, he remarked to the coachman, 
“Those are fine horses and I would like to drive 
them to the river.” 

“ Fm afraid you couldn’t manage them, ma- 
jor,” replied the driver ; “ they are very active.” 
Whereupon Major Allen laughed heartily, but 
became so persistent in his desire that he was 
allowed to assume the reins, which he handled 
most dexterously. 

“ I shall speed them on yonder level,” he said, 
and when the spot was reached gave the ani- 
mals full rein. Off they dashed like the 
wind, and, too late, he found he could not check 
them. On they dashed. First a trot ; then a 
wild, mad run, with the result that Major Allen 
was thrown violently from his seat and struck 
heavily on an obstacle by the wayside. 

As soon as the affrighted horses could be 
checked, the carriage was driven quickly back 
to the place of the accident. Major Allen had 
been much stunned, and complained bitterly of 
his bruised body. He was taken up and con- 
veyed aboard of his yacht, and at once started 
for his home ; but he grew rapidly worse 
before reaching Claremont. The sun rose next 


216 GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 

morning for the last time over him, for before it 
again went down, Major William Allen was dead. 

Oh, what a shock to those of Claremont and 
its environments. The master, well and happy 
yesterday, cold and lifeless to>day. Like wild- 
fire the sad tidings spread. The telegraph had 
summoned his loved ones during the night to 
come quickly, and now it bore to the people of 
Virginia the message of death. At once the 
wheels of industry all over the great estate 
were stopped, while hundreds who were depend- 
ent on this one man, stood aghast in the pres- 
ence of their shattered anticipations. Among 
this number was Gilbert. From the moment 
the yacht had reached her moorings he 
had been the constant attendant upon his 
wounded friend and employer. Not a moment 
had he left his side, and when he saw that the 
inevitable was fast approaching, baffling the 
best medical skill and the prayers of the house- 
hold, he wept like a child. Could it be possible 
that this man had been cut down in the prime 
of such a useful life ; that he should never again 
hear Major Allen’s kindly voice, nor be able to 
consult with him ? 

In due season, the body of the great property 
owner was consigned to its last resting-place 
beside that of his distinguished kinsmen, in 


FLYING POINT. 


217 


the presence of a mighty gathering of mourners. 
Only for a short time was the business affairs of 
the estate interrupted by the death of Major 
Allen ; a gentleman who enjoyed a national 
reputation assuming control, and the wheels of 
progress were again put in motion. Gilbert 
Wooten, however, decided to go into business 
for himself, provided he could get possession of 
the tract of land of which Major Allen had 
spoken only two days before his death. And, 
with this determination in his mind, called 
at the mansion to see Mrs. Allen. That lady, 
deep in the garb of her widowhood, received 
Gilbert on terms of friendship more closely 
cemented than ever before by the knowledge of 
Gilbert’s tender solicitude for Major Allen dur- 
ing his last hours. 

“ I have called to learn, missus, if I can have 
the tract of land Major Allen agreed to sell to 
me. He said he spoke to you about it, and 
that you were willing I should have it.” 

“Yes, Gilbert, he did; and had he lived 
you would be in possession at this hour. I 
certainly intend to carry out his wishes and my 
own desire. I will see the executor and have 
him prepare the deed. Major Allen said you 
were to have the property at one-half its ap- 
praised valuation. Does that suit you ? ” 


218 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


Indeed, missus, I could not expect, never 
hoped, for such generosity. Of course, I am 
more than suited.” 

“You will be permitted to have any length 
of time you name in which to pay for it. Don’t 
worry about that. You had best keep all the 
money you have just now, to enable you to 
conduct the wood business, in which, Mary 
tells me, you are about to embark, and for the 
purpose of erecting a home for her and her 
children.” 

The heartfelt thanks extended Mrs. Allen by 
Gilbert, may be imagined. At last he was in 
a position to become a business man, with no 
superior to whom he must render an account. 
Could he do as well for himself as he had for 
Major Allen ? That was yet to be seen. 

Flying Point comprised an unbroken area of 
two hundred and fifty acres, thickly studded 
with superior pine, oak, hickory and walnut 
timber, all of which was very valuable. Its 
location especially adapted it to the con- 
venience so much to be desired by one intend- 
ing to cut and manufacture wood, lumber and 
staves for market. Lying within half a mile of 
the James river, and bordering on Chipoax 
creek a tributary, which formed the boundary 
between the famous Brandon estate and Flying 


FLYING POINT. 


219 


Point, certainly this tract of land was a most 
desirable plot. Chipoax creek was broad and 
deep, navigable for steamers and sailing craft 
of larger size, besides being well stocked with 
such fish as are found in southern waters, also 
with fowl in an abundance at certain periods of 
the year. There was not ten acres of arable 
land within the boundary of this tract — only 
the little opening which had once been the site 
of the birthplace of Colonel Allen’s illegitimate 
son, William, the dwelling on which had long 
since crumbled to decay. When Gilbert Wooten 
took possession he readily penetrated into a 
labyrinth of primeval fastness, and ere long he 
caused the wilderness to blossom as the rose. 
The forest was felled and converted into 
material which he prepared for shipment. 
Thousands of cords of wood were manufac- 
tured, and many feet of more choice timber 
sold for the purposes of ship building. Men 
from the New England States had camped 
upon the premises, and the sturdy sound of the 
axe of these hardy woodsmen made the welkin 
ring. Gilbert had become, indeed, a man of 
business. As fast as the forest was removed, 
he cleared the waste and debris, and where it 
had been appeared the surface of a beautiful 
farm. 


220 


gilbert; or, then and now. 


The great demand for such merchandise as 
Flying Point afforded enabled Gilbert to 
promptly meet the payments on the land as 
agreed upon, and at the expiration of three 
years the last dollar was paid and Gilbert 
Wooten became the proud possessor of a mag- 
nificent plantation, upon which there was no 
incumbrance. With ample means at his com- 
mand, he erected a comfortable home for Mary 
and surrounded her with all the necessary com- 
forts and many luxuries of life. Both himself 
and his wife were happy. She overjoyed with 
her surroundings, and he at having being able 
to bestow them on her. Their children had 
grown to become useful and were taught to 
work. Years rolled rapidly by ; Gilbert had 
become very prosperous. His fame spread as 
his wealth increased, until he was looked up 
to by those of his race far and near, and pointed 
to as a living example of what the black could 
accomplish. Even the whites admired the busi- 
ness pluck and energy of this instinctively thor- 
ough business man, and many took his advice 
in matters of commercial importance, feeling 
assured that his conclusions in the main would 
be correct. 

Gilbert had one weak spot in his nature, how- 
ever, which often cost him dearly. He was 


FLYING POINT. 


221 


easily influenced by those inclined to flatter, and 
more than once he paid dearly for listening to 
the honeyed words which were poured into his 
willing ear by one who had a motive in doing so. 

Gilbert was generous to a fault — often too 
much so for his own good — to both white and 
black. Never having been thrown among the 
people of the world, he could readily be beguiled, 
and advantage was frequently taken of the 
confidence he placed in others. He loved his 
wife and was fond of his growing family of 
children about him, doing by them all that a 
father could to make them useful and happy. 
The needy were never turned away from his 
door empty-handed, while he bestowed many a 
dollar upon the unworthy applicant who 
imposed on his generosity. At this day there 
are many living evidences of his bountiful hand 
among white and black, who twenty years ago 
were very poor, and who, in many instances, 
are ‘^up in the world,” as the saying goes. 
Some of those who were started in their upward 
journey by the generous aid of Gilbert we may 
have occasion to recall. The cry of the orphan 
never failed to find a response in Gilbert’s heart, 
the recollections of his own childhood being too 
vivid to allow him to turn a deaf ear to those 
similarly situated. 


222 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


Gilbert’s business expanded and grew until 
he had accumulated thousands of dollars. Fly- 
ing Point had been so thoroughly developed 
that his agricultural products filled his barns to 
bursting and still what he was to accomplish as 
a lumber merchant was in its infancy. Like 
that famous general of Roman history, he ** con- 
quered the world about him, and sighed for 
more worlds to conquer.” Piece by piece, tract 
by tract, he continued to add to the area of 
Flying Point, until, instead of his real holdings 
being counted by the hundreds of acres, they 
were estimated by the thousands. At one time 
he gave employment directly to over one 
hundred men, and indirectly to as many more. 
His fame had reached the great American 
metropolis, and he was invited to visit New 
York. One cannot expect to enjoy the sweets 
of this life long, however, without having some 
of the bitter injected into our gladness. Gilbert 
was destined to bear his proportionate share of 
sorrow, the common lot of all humanity. 

Mary, the loving wife of his bosom, she who 
had, for so many years stood by and encouraged 
him in his manly efforts, had taken sick, and 
her days, it could be plainly observed, were 
numbered. All that human skill could accom- 
plish to restore her was futile. Plainly she was 


FLYING POINT. 


223 


dying and the heart of her husband bled at the 
thought of being parted from her. “ Gilbert,” 
she said, calling him to her bedside, “ I shall 
leave you soon. The thought pains me, my 
husband, but my faith in heaven is great. Care 
for the children until you can find some other to 
fill my place, and meet me in a brighter world.” 
She sank upon her pillow, and, surrounded by 
her family and friends, the soul of this wife and 
mother fled from its earthly tenement to the God 
who gave it. Genuine was the sorrow of the 
friends and acquaintances of Mary Wooten, not 
the least of whom was the widow of Major 
Allen and her children. In the burying ground 
at Flying Point her remains were laid to rest, in 
full view of the home she had done so much to 
brighten. 


CHAPTER XV. 

GILBERT IN POLITICS. 

HE death of Mary had its effect on Gilbert, 



1 but instead of mourning her loss in the 
usual way he plunged deeper into business than 
he had ever dreamed of doing. “ I must do 
something to keep my mind constantly em- 
ployed,” he said. Not many months elapsed 
after his wife’s death before he began systemati- 
cally to buy land and timber rights for miles 
adjacent to and around and about Flying Point, 
even crossing over into the county of Sussex, 
near the scene of his early childhood and that 
of his apprenticeship, in quest of real estate. 
These holdings he was farsighted enough to see 
would at no distant day become very valuable, 
while at the time he purchased the various prop- 
erties they were in but little demand. At Fly- 
ing Point everything was kept moving. Large 
crops of grain and peanuts were cultivated, and 
a quantity of stock raised. His daughter, Scilla, 
now grown to young womanhood, had assumed 
charge of the domestic department of her 
father’s household, and proved by her aptness 


GILBERT IN POLITICS. 


226 


the careful training she had received from her 
mother. 

‘ About this time, Gilbert, like unto everyone 
else, black and white, became much interested 
in certain political questions then agitating the 
people of Virginia, and for the first time in his 
life really lost his head. Before proceeding to 
enlighten the reader as to what course Gilbert 
pursued in the readjustment movement, we wish 
to dwell on a few observations which have more 
than likely attracted the attention of others. A 
Proverb of Solomon might be applied more 
aptly and appropriately to many modern virtues 
than during the early ages of man. “ Let not 
the shoemaker go beyond his last,” carries with 
it great force, and is pregnant with significant 
meaning. If in the everyday walks of life this 
stricture was heeded, much disappointment 
would be averted and fewer people would be- 
come the target of ridicule, and at the same time 
they would avoid the embarrassment which is 
often the result of just such folly as many ex- 
perience by disobeying the edict of that Biblical 
maxim. 

At the time Gilbert became interested in the 
political question of the hour, which was the one 
theme of discussion, the direct welfare of his 
race was in question, and it was but natural for 


226 


gilbert; or, then and now. 


him to take much more interest in the matter 
than he might otherwise have done. He was 
led to believe that should men of his own race 
be installed into official positions, many advan- 
tages might accrue to the black man which he 
did not then enjoy, and that the negro would 
be elevated to a higher plane of influence than 
he had heretofore reached. It has already been 
said that Gilbert was susceptible to the wiles of 
flattery, and those who wished to use his influ- 
ence for purposes of personal aggrandizement 
knew full well how to approach him in the ac- 
complishment of their aim. 

About this time a shrewd political trickster 
— a mulatto from a Northern State who had 
come to Virginia as a carpet-bagger,” as 
all such political adventurers were styled — 
had early formed the acquaintance of Gilbert. 
This cunning politician had become thor- 
oughly posted in regard to the sentiments 
of the leading influential blacks, and had 
familiarized himself with their natural charac- 
teristics. His great object was to get himself 
elected to the legislature as the special cham- 
pion of the black man’s rights, and to succeed in 
accomplishing this object became a necessity 
to ‘‘ pull the wool ” over the eyes of just such 
men as Gilbert. 


GILBERT IN POLITICS. 


227 


In saying that this man was a sagacious polit- 
ical wire-puller is but mildly expressing the 
influence he succeeded in wielding over Gilbert, 
whom he cajoled into the belief that prosperity, 
from a financial standpoint, carried with it a 
political power which would redound to the 
making of Gilbert in the land. Of course he 
must be generously liberal, attend political con- 
ventions, and move about among the voters in 
his own county and district, that he might be- 
come acquainted with the prominent men of 
his party. 

“ There is no reason in the world,” declared 
this crafty adventurer, “why you should not 
be given an honored place in the councils of 
State. Our people control this congressional 
district, and just such men as you are in a posi- 
tion to dictate to the leaders of the Republican 
party in Virginia.” 

“ Do you really believe I might succeed?” in- 
quired Gilbert. 

“Most assuredly,” replied the carpetbagger, 
patting Gilbert familiarly on the shoulder. 

“ How much will it cost me ? ” was the in- 
jury. 

“ Oh, not a great sight for a man like you ; a 
few hundred or so,” said the politician. 

“ Well, ril try it,” responded Gilbert 


228 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


“ The first thing to do is to see the town 
committee and fix ’em.” 

“Fix ’em!” exclaimed Gilbert. “What do 
you mean ? ” 

“Give them a hundred for — their — influence 
in appointing only your friends to such places 
as it is necessary to hold. And then,” he con- 
tinued, “ I have got to go among the leaders of 
other districts to arrange with them, and ready 
cash is the thing to do it.” 

“I see,” was Gilbert’s measured response. 

“ The convention occurs at Fredericksburg 
in less than a month. We shall have you go 
as a delegate from this county, become ac- 
quainted with all of the leading men of the 
party, and on your return — why, simply nomi- 
nate you to the Senate and run you in as 
easily as one may ‘roll off a log.’ Don’t you 
see? Meantime I’ll go to the House, and 
between us we shall have things our own 
way.” 

“ That is certainly a fine scheme, if it only 
works,” replied Gilbert, who had been wrought 
up to a high pitch. 

“ Works ! ” exclaimed the sharper. “ Why, 
man, we will make it work. You have the 
money and I the experience. It will be a sure 
thing.” 


GILBERT IN POLITICS. 


229 


‘ Gilbert put up the money to soap the com- 
mittee, and advanced (?) another hundred to 
enable this enthusiastic schemer to “go among 
the leaders of other districts to arrange with 
them,” as had been suggested, and awaited 
results. In due time, sure enough, he was 
chosen a delegate to the Fredericksburg con- 
vention, and received the congratulations of his 
followers and his “carpet-bag” manipulator. 

“Yes, I am on my way to the convention,” 
remarked Gilbert to an acquaintance whom he 
met in Richmond on the morning of the day 
fixed for the assembling of the Republcan lead- 
ers, “and I am expected to make a speech 
there.” 

“ Indeed ! Going to make a speech, are you ? ” 

“Yes, my friends expect me to say some- 
thing, but what I have not yet decided upon.” 

At the appointed hour Gilbert arrived in 
Fredericksburg, and, accompanied by other dele- 
gates, entered the assembly hall. 

“ Hello, Andrews I” exclaimed one, who thus 
greeted our political wire-puller, meeting him 
in the lobby of the building. “ What is up ? ” 

Andrews shrugged his shoulders significantly, 
and, taking his acquaintance to one side, whis- 
pered : “ Fattest thing I ever struck.” 

“What is it?’” inquired the other. 


230 


gilbert; or, then and now. 


“You know I am a candidate for the Legis- 
lature from my county, and to have any sight 
of winning whatever I have had to work a 
‘racket’ which acts like a charm. You have 
heard of Gilbert Wooten, the rich and influen- 
tial planter and lumberman from Claremont, of 
course. Well, he has a big influence among 
our party followers in that section, and I have 
put up a job on him which beats the Jews. I 
have gotten him elected to this convention and 
made him believe that he can be chosen to rep- 
resent us as Senator. He is hot stuff, I tell 
you ; shells out his cash like one would water, 
and, of course, I handle it.” 

“ You have struck it rich for a fact,” replied 
the other. “ But can he be nominated ? ” 

“Not the least show for him in the world. 
In the meatime, however, he has hauled me all 
over the county on his (?) electioneering tour, 
and, what is more, he has paid all the bills. I 
shall be sent to Richmond certain.” Both 
laughed heartily as Andrews concluded. 

The great conglomeration of representative 
leaders of the Virginia Republicans was called 
to order. Committees were appointed and the 
chairman announced that nominations were in 
order. After several counties had been heard 
from, at the suggestion of Andrews, a call from 


GILBERT IN POLITICS. 


231 


several parts of the House was made for Gil- 
bert Wooten. Rising from his seat amidst the 
din of hearty applause which accompanied the 
call, Gilbert said : 

“Mr. Chairman : I scarcely know what to say 
at this time. Being unfamiliar with the pro- 
ceedings of great political gatherings, it cannot 
be expected of a backwoodsman to make a 
speech which in any way may conform to the 
requirements of this large and intelligent 
assembly. But, sir, I wish to say that in com- 
ing here I did so hoping to aid my fellow-country- 
men in their efforts to become better and more 
enlightened citizens. I hope to see the day 
when this Commonwealth shall be known as the 
home of all men ; that, be its citizens white or 
black, foreign or to the manor born, the object 
and aim of all shall redound to the best interest 
of the whole body politic. Citizens may hon- 
orably differ in their political views, but they 
should not oppose each other in the general 
idea of maintaining the welfare of the Common- 
wealth and the prosperity of its people. I have 
listened to remarks of gentlemen on this floor, 
who have preceded me, I must say with both 
interest and astonishment. I cannot endorse 
much of the sentiment I have heard expressed 
however ; I do not believe in flaunting the bloody 


232 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


shirt doctrine ; I do not endorse rancor which 
but has a tendency to stir up prejudice and 
engender strife. In the district which I have 
the honor to represent upon this floor, the 
white man and the black thoroughly under- 
stand each other, and I pray they may 
dwell in unity and live neighborly, and both 
work for the common interest of all. Should 
the nominees of this convention be elected 
to fill the high places within the gift of the 
people of Virginia, I shall loyally stand by 
them ; but should the Democratic candidates be 
successful at the polls I do not believe that my 
white friends of that party intend me harm nor 
that they will play me false. The business in 
which I am engaged brings me hourly in con- 
tact with many representative Democrats, a 
large number of whom I have known from their 
birth, and I cannot see why, nor do I believe, 
they have so suddenly turned against me as 
some have declared on this floor. There are two 
parties in Virginia, one composed entirely of 
white men, the other a mixed conglomeration 
including the rag-tag and bobtail of many sec- 
tions of this Union. Am I to understand that 
in the event of the white man’s party succeed- 
ing in carrying the coming election, I am to be 
the loser ? How, sir, can either party pass a 


GILBERT IN POLITICS. 


233 


law which does not operate equally upon all ? 
I thank the convention for the honor conferred 
upon me in being invited to speak, and in con- 
clusion I say, may God speed and guide its 
deliberations aright.” 

As Gilbert took his seat the friend of Andrews 
said to him : “ That old fellow is not such an 
easy thing as you imagine.” 

“ O, yes he is,” replied Andrews. ‘‘ But he is 
honest, yet too verdant to see through what I 
am doing. If every member of this body was 
as sincere as Gilbert it would never have been 
called, nor would any of us have a ghost of a 
chance of being elected.” 

Grasping Gilbert’s hand, Andrews shook it 
warmly, and congratulated him highly for his 
brilliant speech, assuring him, meanwhile, that 
he had made a great impression. 

“ There will not be another speech delivered 
in this hall equal to yours, sir,” remarked An- 
drews. “It was just long enough and right to 
the point. You know prospective Senators 
should be very dignified in their remarks ; and 
you have certainly convinced everyone on this 
floor of your position.” 

“I thank you for your compliment,” returned 
Gilbert. “ I wished to be understood.” 

“No thanks. It is an honor to be acquainted 


234 


GILBERT : OR, THEN AND NOW. 


with such a man as you, sir,’^ artfully responded 
Andrews. 

Gilbert returned to Claremont with the Sena- 
torial bee buzzing about his ears. He, of course, 
was accompanied by his manager, who allowed 
no opportunity to pass in which he did not keep ' 
Gilbert’s spirits up to the highest pitch of enthu- 
siasm. 

“ I must visit the committeemen and party 
leaders again,” he remarked. I suppose your 
business will not permit you to accompany me. 
But it makes no material difference, as I can 
represent you as well as if you were present. 
By the way, I should like to have another 
hundred. Electioneering costs lots of money, 
but it pays to be liberal, you know.” 

Gilbert counted out another hundred, totally 
unsuspicious of the fact that Andrews was ap- 
plying every dollar of it to his own use and in 
his own interest in being nominated at the 
coming county convention, for the Legislature. 
The second convention day arrived, and there 
was a great gathering of local politicians pres- 
ent. The big fish and little fish swam in schools 
together on this day if not on any other. 

“ I’ve been thinking it would be policy for 
you to refrain from attending the convention,” 
said Andrews, who had ridden over to Flying 


GILBERT IN POLITICS. 


28 n 


Point early on the morning of that day. “ There 
are so many who wish you to pledge them your 
support in the scramble for petty positions, that, 
should you be nominated and elected, it would 
be very annoying. Meanwhile, if you were not 
present, all would support you, while you had 
made no promises to any.” 

“ That’s a capital suggestion ” responded 
Gilbert. “ I shall stay away.” 

As a matter of fact, Andrews knew full well 
that Gilbert would not be nominated. The 
candidate for the Senate had been agreed on 
several weeks before, and if Gilbert was not 
present then Andrews would not be compelled 
to place his name in nomination, but could tell 
Gilbert any kind of a story he pleased. It was 
two days after the convention had adjourned. 
Andrews had been named as the party candi- 
date for the Legislature, but not once had Gil- 
bert’s name been suggested as being the proper 
party to go to the Senate. Sending for An- 
drews, he inquired : “ How was it that my name 
was not mentioned?” 

Andrews thereupon shook his head dolefully 
and said : ” Politics I One can never tell what 
will happen in politics ! ” 

‘‘Well, maybe you can’t,” replied Gilbert, 
laying great stress on the pronoun you, “but I 


ii36 GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 

can, and Fd have you understand it. You have 
taken me for a tool and I have allowed you to 
use me as such, but now I say to you that you 
are a fraud and a bum, and if I can defeat your 
election I shall do so. Clear out ! ” 

True to his word, Gilbert worked hard to de- 
feat Andrews and succeeded in doing so, but 
he was often heard to remark afterwards : “I 
deserved it for being such a fool as to think of 
going to the Senate.” 

This experience satisfied all of Gilbert’s polit- 
ical ambitions, leaving his mind free to attend 
to his private affairs, unhampered by the thought 
of political office. Andrews left the community 
to seek new fields and other aspirants on whom 
he might prey through the use of his oily tongue 
and winning ways. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

GILBERT VISITS NEW YORK. 

T ime rolled on, Gilbert growing meantime 
in wealth, mercantile standing and experi- 
ence. He had long ago abandoned every idea 
of again meddling in politics, concluding to 
devote his whole time exclusively to private 
affairs. “ Let the politicians manage politics ; 
I have honorable business to look after,” he 
declared. “ I have had enough of ’em ! ” 
Having been invited to visit New York by 
his agents residing there, Gilbert concluded to 
accept the invitation. He not only had a 
longing desire to see the sights of the metrop- 
olis, but also to learn how business was 
conducted in a great city. Making his arrange- 
ments accordingly, he began preparing for the 
journey before him. He was sure he had no 
suitable raiment in which to make his entry, 
hence he ordered several stunning new suits of 
the latest cut, with patent leather boots and 
silk hat. As a matter of fact, his outfit was 
complete. Not a finer dressed man from Vir- 
ginia had started on a journey since the war, 


238 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


nor one who could have outshone the black 
James river lumber king. 

Down to Norfolk on a swift river steamer, 
and thence by an ocean liner, he traveled to the 
metropolis as a first-class passenger. But to 
more fully enlighten the reader it will be well 
to allow Gilbert to narrate his experience, en 
voyage^ in his own language. 

“ When I boarded the magnificent Old 
Dominion liner ‘Jamestown,’ and presented my 
ticket and baggage checks, a pompous looking 
Irishman whom I afterwards learned looked 
after the luggage, seeing that I had three 
checks, sort of squinted his eyes at me and 
said, with a grin : 

“ ‘ Bejabers, and its to Europe you must be 
travelling. I’m sure.’ 

“ ‘ Only to New York,” I replied. 

Only to New York, is it? Faith and ye 
have baggage enough to accommodate ye 
around the world.’ 

“ ‘Only a small lot of wearing apparel,’ I 
said. 

“ ‘ An’ how much do you generally keep in 
stock, ould man, if three big Saratogas only 
hold what you call “ a few.” By the saints, and 
I guess a clothing store might not hold them.’ 

“ When I entered the saloon and presented 


GILBERT VISITS NEW YORK.. 


239 


my stateroom ticket to the head waiter, he 
looked at me with eyes as big as saucers and 
remarked, ‘No. 32 Bridal Chamber. Where is 
the lady, sir ? ’ 

“ I told him there wasn’t any lady, and he 
turned and looked at me critically in the eye 
and repelied, ‘Well, you must be a gay swell 
from way back. ’ 

“You see I was going to New York in style 
and money didn’t cut any figure. There was a 
hundred first-class passengers on board, and I 
was the only black among them. I felt some- 
what lonesome at first, but after a while I 
noticed that lots of ’em kept their eyes on me, 
and that aroused my curiosity to such a pitch 
that I forgot being by myself. 

“We had traveled but a few miles seaward on 
the evening we left Norfolk, just before the sup- 
per hour, when a fellow with his shirt on upside 
down, I thought, came up to where I was stand- 
ing, looking at the great expanse of water, and 
said, ‘ Aw, pardon me, are you an American ? ’ 

“ His words took me so much by surprise I 
just didn’t reply to him at first, but I finally 
said, ‘ Yes, sir ; I was born in Virginia.’ 

“ ‘ Excuse me,’ he remarked, ‘ I thought per- 
haps you were a minister of state from San 
Domingo. I really didn’t know that Dixie 


240 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


Sported any such bloods as I should take you to 
represent.’ 

‘ It is a fine evening, sir,’ I said, thinking to 
turn the conversation. 

“ ‘Yes,’ said he. ‘ Going to New York, I sup- 
pose ? ’ 

“ ‘ If the ship don’t sink,’ I responded. 

“ ‘ Ever been there ? ’ 

“ ‘ Never, sir,’ I said. 

“ ‘ Well, you’ll capture the town,’ he ex- 
plained, and, swinging on his heel, left me as 
abruptly as you please. 

“ When the gong sounded for supper I fol- 
lowed the crowd to the dining saloon and had 
a white man, dressed as fine as a fiddle, to 
wait on me. He laid a bill of fare in front 
of me and just stood there waiting. Now, 
you know I can’t read, and I was certainly 
in a fix. I would have given a cool thousand 
just to have had some fellow along to have 
read that bill of fare. 

“ All at once an idea struck me, and, turning 
to that waiter I said, ‘Young man, I have very 
poor eyes, and to strain them hurts my vision. 
You just read that bill for me, while I am on 
this steamer, and I will give you a dollar.’ 
Quickly he ran his eye over the bill and then 
inquired — ‘ What will you have ? ’ ‘ Bring me a 


GILBERT VISITS NEW YORK. 


241 


good supper,’ I said. And, to tell the truth, I 
never had seen such a layout for one in all my 
life, nor could I eat a quarter of it. At every 
meal after that the same waiter attended at my 
table, and I had no more trouble with bills of 
fare ; but it cost me a dollar to prevent him 
knowing I couldn’t read. 

“The next afternoon we came in sight of 
New York, and I declare to gracious, I saw 
such a stack of church steeples and vessel 
masts ahead I thought we were running for a 
forest of dead trees. It was a sight I shall not 
forget until my dying day. Talking about 
boats, why, man, I thought I was on a big one, 
but when the foreign-bound steamship ‘ City 
of Paris ’ passed us it looked to me as if she 
was a quarter of a mile long. Great guns! 
Wasn’t she immense ? Going up the harbor I 
saw more ships and tugboats than I believed 
there were afloat. At length my steamer blew 
her whistle for the pier-landing. This was up 
the North river some little distance, and it 
looked to me as if there was no end to the 
wharves higher up. When the gangplank 
was hauled aboard and the big Irishman who 
looked after my luggage yelled, ‘New York,’ 
he came up to me and said, ‘ Y ou had best hire 
a dray to haul your baggage. Bedad, there isn’t 


242 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


a cab in all of this burg which can carry thim 
three great Saratoga trunks.’ 

“We landed at the foot of Cortland street — 
I think they called it — and such a sight as 
greeted my eyes ! I guess there was nigh unto 
a hundred hackmen standing all in a row, every- 
one of ’em yelling at one time. I stepped up 
to one, a big, fat-faced fellow, whose head was 
as red as fire, and who wore a long green coat 
with metal buttons on it and a tall plug hat, 
and, says I, ‘ How much do you charge for 
hauling a fellow ? ’ he replied. 

“ ‘ Where to ? ’ 

‘“New York, of course,’ said I. 

‘“You are in New York already, old man. 
Where do you wish to go ? ’ said he. 

“ Taking my broker’s card from my pocket 
I handed it to him and said, ‘ Drive me to that 
number.’ 

“ ‘ All right,’ he said. ‘ Five dollars, please.’ 

“ ‘ Five dollars I What for ?’ I asked. 

“ ‘ Well, you see,’ said he, ‘ it is not often the 
likes of you come to New York, and when they 
do, they cuts a swell, and to cut a swell in New 
York costs money. If you give me five dollars 
to drive you up Broadway to Twenty-second 
street, you will take the town by storm. Don’t 
you see ? ’ 


GILBERT VISITS NEW YORK. 


248 


“ ‘ If that is so, money is no object, said I,’ 
and he conducted me to his carriage. He had 
no other passenger, and I tell you what, the 
ride I had in that fine rig, and the sights that 
met my gaze on the way to my broker’s office, 
was worth twice five. I afterwards learned, 
however, that the right fee should have been 
fifty cents. I found my broker expecting me, 
and, having sent a clerk out with my checks 
for the three Saratogas — as my Irish friend had 
called my trunks, — I had a pleasant time talk- 
ing with my friend, until I was escorted to my 
lodging house, where I found I could rest in 
comfort. It was twilight by this time, and, 
having eaten my supper early, I found my 
room again and retired for the night; but 
precious little sleep did I get. Honestly, I 
don’t believe people in New York ever go to 
bed, and they live so close together one may 
hear them talking at all hours. 

“ My broker having promised to call for me 
early next morning, I was up and awaiting him. 
What we call early down here in Claremont 
I found to be about the hour business men in 
New York go to bed. I waited until after eight 
o’clock and he had not called, so I got my 
breakfast, lit a cigar, and just waited. I had to 
wait for him. To tell the truth, I didn’t know 


244 


gilbert; or, then and now. 


where I was at, and I didn’t feel inclined to let 
the folks about the house know how green I 
was. So there I sat and sat and sat. By and 
by I looked at my watch again, and, as sure as 
faith, it was past eleven o’clock. ‘ Would he 
never come?’ I asked myself. Just as I was 
about to give up all hope, who but my broker 
should come in, and, rushing up to me, said : 
‘ Good morning, Gilbert ; I hope I am not too 
early. The fact is I thought a morning walk 
and an eye-opener might do us both good so 
hurried down town.’ 

‘ Good Lord, man ! ’ said I, ‘ Do you call 
this early ? I have been waiting on you since 
six this morning, and now it is close on to 
noon.’ 

“He just looked at me sorter pitiful for a 
minute and then he said : ‘ Excuse me, Gilbert ; 
people in New York consider twelve o’clock 
quite early.’ 

“ My hotel was about ten stories high, and 
my room was way up, looking out on a side 
street as well as Broadway. Standing by a 
window before I took that dumb waiter — 
elevator concern — I saw a sight that almost took 
my breath away. Way up, twice as high as I 
was from the street, just across from where I 
stood, and standing on a board, which I am 


GILBERT VISITS NEW YORK. 


246 


certain was less than a foot wide, was a woman 
washing windows. I watched her until I became 
dizzy, and I tell you I wouldn’t have been in her 
shoes for the whole of Flying Point. 

“ My broker and I went out on the street to 
get what he said was to be an eye-opener, but 
before we left the cafe I thought it came near 
being an eye- closer. Those New York fellows 
certainly treat you fine. There wasn’t anything 
in that saloon too good for us, and I believe we 
sampled about every kind of liquor there was 
in it. 

“ ‘ Well, haven’t you got your eyes about 
open ? ’ my broker inquired of me after we had 
been sitting at a table for about two hours. 
‘ Suppose we have a lunch and then go around 
a spell.’ 

“ I accepted the invitation, and I tell you we 
had an enjoyable time. While we were enjoy- 
ing it he said : 

“ ‘ Gilbert, New York is a mighty big town 
and you might get lost, or maybe imposed upon 
by some sharp. I wish to warn you not to be 
too free with people you do not know.’ 

“ ^Oh, I shall be on my guard against that,’ 
I replied. 

‘Don’t display any large amount of money 
in going about,’ he cautioned. ‘ There are 


246 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


many poor devils in this city who would just 
as soon kill one for five dollars as not.’ 

“That information caused me to think, and as 
I had more than a thousand on my person, I 
didn’t feel very comfortable. ‘I’ve got several 
hundred dollars about me,’ I said. 

“ ‘ Go to the office and put it in my safe,’ he 
suggested, and I didn’t wait long before doing 
so. Well, about three in the afternoon he took 
me out riding. I never expected, in all of my 
life, to see so many wonderful sights as I did 
during that ride — Central Park, Dewey’s Arch, 
General Grant’s tomb, and a thousand other 
wonderful things. Did I believe that when I am 
dead I should have such a place to rest my 
bones in, I don’t think I should be in a hurry 
to rise when old Gabriel sounds his trumpet. 
There can’t be such another tomb in the world 
as Grant’s ; it is big enough to hold a dozen 
bodies. One thing surprised me, however. I 
saw a soldier marching back and forward in 
front of it, with a gun on his shoulder. I didn’t 
think that was just the proper thing to do. I 
couldn’t see that any live man, much less a dead 
one, could get out of that tomb, and even if 
General Grant should come to life and try to 
escape, I think it would have been mean to stop 
him. I spoke to my broker about it, as we sat 


GILBERT VISITS NEW YORK. 


247 


in the coupe looking at that great pile of gran- 
ite, and he said the soldier was put there to pre- 
vent any thief from breaking in and stealing 
the silver and gold trimmings off the coffin. 
That cleared the thing up in my mind, and I 
agreed with him ; but to have so many thou- 
sands of dollars worth of precious stuff lying 
there idle, and of no use to the great general, 
did look tempting for a fact. 

“ I strained my eyes looking up the Hudson 
river hoping to see West Point, but it was too 
far off and I gave up the job, promising myself 
to go up there before returning to Claremont 
I wished to see the place where Uncle Sam ed- 
ucates soldiers, as I had heard so much talk 
about it. I went later, but I will speak of that 
trip some other time. You see I must confine 
myself to what I saw each day for if I don’t I 
shall forget half of it. 

“ After we had lingered by General Grant’s 
tomb and looked at the grave of the little girl 
child close beside it, who was buried there more 
than a hundred years before the general died, 
we turned about and drove through the finest 
country I ever set my eyes upon. Up through 
Harlem, over the bridge and back again to and 
down Broadway to Madison Square. ‘ Woo- 
ten,’ says my broker, ‘ I am going to take you 


248 


GILBERT : OR, THEN AND NOW. 


down Fifth Avenue. I wish you to see the 
homes of less than half a dozen men whose 
combined wealth exceeds one billion dollars.’ 

‘ Nonsense, man !’ I said, ‘ there isn’t that 
much money in the whole world, much less in 
New York.’ However, after I had looked at 
the houses of the Goulds, the Vanderbilts, 
Rockefeller, Depew, and others of that class, I 
was ready to believe anything. Why, Flying 
Point rose up before my mind, and I was really 
ashamed to think of it. We drove along down 
the avenue, passing mountain-high houses on 
both sides of us, some of them covering whole 
blocks, until we got to the place where the 
avenue and Broadway meet, and my broker 
said, pointing to a great stone building on the 
corner, ‘ That is the National Republican 
Heaquarters over there.’ In less than a 
second my mind carried me back to our little 
one-story town hall in Claremont where political 
meetings are held, and I remembered having 
heard something said there one day about this 
very building. So I gave it a good look that I 
might speak of it at home. 

“ ‘ How would you like to go to the theatre, 
Wooten ? ’ inquired my broker. * There is the 
Union Square Theatre just across the street, 
and on the other side of Broadway is the Grand 


GILBERT VISITS NEW YORK. 


249 


Opera House. Higher up is Daly’s, the Park, 
and the Casino. You can see any kind of show 
in this town. Will you go ? ’ 

“ Now, I never had seen inside a playhouse 
in my life, and I just thought I would like to 
visit one, so I said that I did not mind. ‘ Very 
well, ’ said he, ‘ we will go to the Casino to- 
morrow evening to see the “ Black Crook ” 

“ ‘ What kind of a crook is he ? ’ I asked. 
‘ There are so many black crooks — and some 
white ones, too. I’m a-thinking — now-a-days, 
that one can’t be too careful.’ 

“ ‘ O, this is different, ’ he declared, ‘ from 
what you think.’ 

“ Then I noticed he was just about bursting 
open with laughter. 

“ ‘ This is a play called the “ Black Crook,” 
he went on to say: ‘ lots of pretty girls, gorgeous 
scenery and splendid music.’ So, it was agreed 
that we would go to the playhouse next night. 

“ ‘ I will buy the tickets,’ my broker said. 

‘ Where would you rather sit, in the par- 
quet, balcony, or suppose we have a private 
box ? It will cost more, but you will have a 
chance to see much better, and many things 
you could not witness from any other point of 
view.’ 

** ‘ Let us have a private box,’ I said. ‘ It is 


250 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


my time to buy something, anyway, and I 
don’t mind the price.’ 

“ ‘ Private boxes come high,’ said my broker. 

‘“I don’t care,’ said I, ‘I’m in New York 
and I’m going to see the town so long as my 
money holds out. How much does the box 
cost, anyway ? ’ 

“ ‘ Only twenty-five dollars,’ he replied. 

Now, that was lots to pay for seeing one 
show, but I said : ‘Oh, that’s all right? Get a 
good one.’ By this time we had reached my 
hotel, only a few squares away from my broker’s 
office, and I alighted to go in for the night. 

“ ‘ I shall drive to my office and return. I 
wish you to take dinner with me this evening,’ 
said my broker. 

“ ‘ Dinner ! ’ said I. ‘ Why, man, it is supper 
time now.’ 

“ ‘ We never dine until six,’ said he. 

“‘Well, call it dinner if you prefer,’ I said; 
‘ I will wait for you before I eat.’ In about 
an hour he came back and I went out with him. 
He took me to a splendid cafe parlor, where 
we had everything one could wish for. 

“ ‘ Gilbert, ’ he said after we had finished, 
‘suppose we visit the Bowery, Castle Garden 
and the like. By the time we make the rounds 
you’ll be weary, and I shall escort you home.’ 


GILBERT VISITS NEW YORK. 


261 


“ ‘ Just as you like/ I said. ‘ You are the pilot ; 
I am at your service/ and he took me to the 
Bowery. 

I didn’t have the slightest idea what 
the Bowery was, and I wished to go anyway. 
Hailing a cab we drove down Broadway, which 
was lighted up as bright as day for miles and 
miles both ways, until we arrived at Post Office 
square, when my broker called attention to 
what he said was known as ‘ Newspaper Row,’ 
and I guess he was right, for there was about 
two thousand newsboys in front of the line of 
buildings, every one of ’em with a bundle of 
papers under his arm, and all shouting at once. 
Right across the street my broker pointed out 
the Astor House — the famous hotel built by 
old John Jacob Astor, and said to me, ' we will 
stop long enough to imbibe a little liquid refresh- 
ment in the basement, that you may see a place 
where five hundred drinks are swallowed every 
minute in the day, from 7 A. M. to 10 P. M. 

“We went in, and, sure enough, about a thou- 
sand customers were drinking and talking every 
kind of outlandish tongues. I was beginning 
to think I had about reached the foot of that 
Tower of Babel old Missus Bains used to read 
about in the Bible when I was a boy, but my 
broker said that was nothing strange. Entering 


252 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


the cab again we were driven to the foot of 
Broadway to look at Governor’s Island and the 
Battery by night. Oh, it was a grand sight to 
me. Then we went to Castle Garden landing 
place and watched the emigrants moving about 
in groups, waiting for the hour to come when 
they might be permitted to go where they 
wished. Of all the miserable looking creatures 
I ever did see these beat all. I believe half of 
them were heathens. Such queer looking 
dresses the women wore, and the men didn’t 
look like our folks at all. Some had pale faces 
and yellow hair ; some dark skin with reddish 
hair, and some were blacker than me by a great 
sight. There were Irish, Dutch, Italians, Span- 
ish, Turks, Greeks, Arabs, Swedes, and the 
Lord only knows who else. 

“My broker said all of these were bound for the 
West and some day one might hear from them 
as being good American citizens ; but I didn’t 
believe it. I didn’t see a man in the crowd 
whom I would trust out of my sight. No, not 
one. While I was engaged in watching this 
crowd, my broker said : 

“ ‘ Come, Wooten, now we will take in the 
Bowery, and then go back up town. I have 
kept the Bowery for the last place to visit, be- 
cause we may stay longer, and when we get 


GILBERT VISITS NEW YORK. 


253 


ready to return we shall not be so far away. 
After driving for about half an hour, he hailed 
the driver to stop. We both got out. Then, 
after settling with the cabman, we walked up 
a street — I never did know the name — but, in 
passing along, he said to me : 

“ ‘ Gilbert, that is the Tombs over there. ’ 

“ ‘ Whose tombs ? ’ I inquired. And again he 
laughed loudly at me. I couldn’t see where the 
joke came in ; but, when he recovered his equa- 
nimity, he said : 

“ ‘ Gilbert, did you never hear of the Tombs ? ’ 

“ ‘ Certainly, I have heard of the tombs many 
a time. Didn’t we go to see General Grant’s 
tomb this very morning? ’ said I. 

'“You don’t understand I ’ he exclaimed. ‘ I 
mean the great city prison, where people are 
locked up who are suspected of crime, and 
where many who have been found guilty are 
confined before they go to Sing Sing or the 
death chair.’ 

“ Then I understood what he meant, and I 
stopped and looked at that great, solemn- 
looking building, covering as much ground as 
my largest potato patch ; and thought to my- 
self, ‘ God only knows how much deviltry there 
is carried on in this world, if it requires a jail 
as big as the Tombs to hold the rascals who 


254 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


are caught in New York city alone.’ Why, the 
penitentiary at Richmond is not half as big as 
that place, and that is only a jail. My broker 
said they put from three to four hundred in the 
Tombs every day in the week, year in and year 
out. Just think of that I Murderers, bank robbers, 
burglars, pickpockets, embezzlers, sneaks, street- 
walking women and every other kind of crea- 
ture who breaks the law. Yes, even old ‘ Boss’ 
Tweed, the man who stole from the rich and 
gave the money to the poor, was locked in 
there for a time, my broker said. 

“ I was still gazing at the big prison when he 
called to me : ‘ Come on ; here is a place I wish 
you to see.’ And he led me through a door 
that opened upon a place that looked like a pic- 
nic ground. There was a big platform at one 
side of it all covered over with green boughs, 
and the other parts were strung with Virginia 
creeper, running cedar and the like. Further 
away was a big organ, almost as large as my 
best buggy house, while overhead I could see 
the stars shining. Scattered all about were 
round tables and chairs, and more than four 
hundred gentlemen and ladies seated around 
those tables, every one of them enjoying a glass 
of beer or a cigarette. We took seats and a 
waiter came up to us and asked what we would 


GILBERT VISITS NEW YORK. 


2G6 


have. My broker said he would take a glass 
of wine, but I didn’t. My nerves needed set- 
tling and I ordered whiskey and cigars for two. 
By and by a whole troop of men and women 
came out on the platform, and such singing and 
dancing I had never seen. 

“ ‘ How do you like it ? ’ asked my broker 
But I didn’t answer him. I was too much in- 
terested in watching the girls perform. So I 
told him not to bother me as I was too busy 
looking. Below their knees they had nothing 
but their low shoes and stockings, and I was 
almost ashamed to watch them perform for fear 
some of the ladies sitting around might catch 
me at it ; but it was very interesting, I tell you. 

‘ Well,’ I said, when the show was over and we 
were about to leave, * This is a Bowery show, 
is it ? ’ 

“ ‘ Yes,’ replied my broker. ‘ What do you 
think of it ? ’ 

‘‘ ' First rate,’ said I ; * but it would never do 
for my pastor down at Claremont to know that 
I went to see such sights as you have taken me 
to this night.’ 

“ ‘ This is nothing strange for New York,’ 
said he. 

“ I returned to my lodging house, where I 
arrived after midnight. There my broker left 


256 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


me, nor did I see him again until one o’clock 
next day, when he sent one of his clerks around, 
whom I accompanied back to the office. I 
was beginning to like New York, and if I had 
stayed there a month I don’t think I should ever 
have left it. Now I will tell you about going to 
the Casino and seeing the “ Black Crook.” 


CHAPTER XVIL 

NEW YORK CONTINUED. 

FTER breakfast on the morning follow- 



ing my visit to the Bowery, I stood in 
front of my hotel for over an hour, just watch- 
ing the swarms of people going up and down 
Broadway. One man passed pushing a hand- 
cart. I guessed at once what his business was, 
for I could see great heaps of oranges, apples 
and peanuts piled high on his cart. I thought 
I would buy an apple in order to encourage 
him, so 1 hailed him. He stopped, put down 
his cart, and said : 

“‘Orange-a, apple-a, peanut-a, banan’.’ 

** I thought to myself : * What kind of lingo 
is he jabbering ? ’ Sol said to him, ‘American ? ’ 

“ ‘ Naw, sa ! he Italia. Buy nice-a fresh-a 
peanut-a?’ 

“ That made me laugh, but I said : ‘ I guess 
I have about two thousand bushels in my barn.’ 

“ ‘ Two thous’ bush’l-a in barn-a 1 ’ he ex- 
claimed. ‘ If-a me-a had so much-a in barn-a 
me-a get-a rich-a.’ 

“ I bought a few apples and gave them to 


268 


gilbert ; or, then and now. 


two little chaps who happened to be passing, 
and when they had taken the apples one fellow 
said to his companion, as they turned around 
the corner : * Say, cully, ain’t dat black “ guy ” 
soft?’ 

“ Then I stood there laughing at myself for 
more than five minutes. It tickled me so that 
a man stopped and said : * Pard, what’s the 
joke?’ I told him it was on me, and he said: 
‘Well, it must be a good one when a fellow 
laughs at himself.’ And I agreed with him. 

“ I thought there was certainly a circus in the 
city that morning, for it looked to me as if the 
whole town had turned out and was all on 
Broadway looking for the parade to pass by. 
But my broker said later that he had not heard 
of anything unusual going on. I wish some 
one who knows would tell me where all the 
people of New York find something to eat and 
a place to sleep. A clerk at my lodging house 
said that not one man in a hundred who stopped 
at a hotel was a resident of New York, and I 
am sure there is not room anywhere else on 
that island to accommodate so many people. 
I believe more people walk on Broadway every 
hour in the day than there are in the State of 
Virginia. I had stood near the street corner 
watching folks passing so long that I began to 


NEW YORK CONTINUED. 


259 


get thirsty, so I crossed over to find a glass of 
lager beer. Going into a saloon, I took a seat 
at a table, and a waiter brought me the biggest 
glass of beer I ever heard of. That glass was 
a foot high, if it was an inch, and it certainly 
held more than a quart. 

‘“Have a little lunch?' he said. ‘ Pickled 
pig’s feet, soup, roast beef, sandwich, Limburger 
cheese.’ 

“ I wasn’t abithungry, but when he mentioned 
cheese, a thought struck me, and I told him to 
bring Limburger cheese. Now I never had 
seen any of the stuff, although I had often heard 
of it and wished to try it. Well, he brought 
it ; but when he sat it down on the table in front 
of me, I thought he had made a mistake and 
struck a sulphur mine somewhere about the 
cook room. Good, lord! but wasn’t it loud? 
I got all I wanted of it at one whiff of the 
scent. Without tasting it I got up from the 
table, and, going over to the bar, I asked the 
bar man what that cheese was worth by the ton, 
delivered down at Claremont. He looked 
strangely at me, and then said : 

“ ‘ How much do you want? ’ 

“ ‘About a hundred tons,’ said I. 

“ ‘ Old man, you are off,’ he answered, point- 
ing at his forehead. 


260 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


“ I didn’t say any more, but my thoughts were 
as strong as the odor of that cheese. As I 
crossed the street I found my broker about to 
begin a search for me, and we went down 
town together. He said he would take me 
around and introduce me to some of the busi- 
ness men. Now, you see, before I went to New 
York I gave my broker a photograph of myself, 
and he had copies made from it, which, as I 
later learned, were hanging in more than twenty 
merchants’ offices in the city — those of the lum- 
ber merchants with whom he did business. But 
I didn’t know it, as I was saying, until the day 
he took me around. I had had lots of dealing 
with these men, but I had never met them. You 
may imagine my surprise when, on meeting any 
of them that day his first words would be : 
^ Ah ! How do you do, Gilbert ; I am glad to 
see you. When did you leave Claremont?’ 
The broker had not had time to tell them who 
I was. 

“ ‘ How did you recognize me the first time we 
met,’ I inquired of one of them afterwards ‘ as I 
had never met you before ?’ 

“ ‘ By your picture, sir. Look, hanging over 
there,’ he continued, pointing to the wall, 

‘ don’t you think I ought to know you ?’ 

*Hf I happened to be walking on the street 


NEW YORK CONTINUED. 


261 


and a wood merchant passed, he would stop me 
and say : ‘ Glad to meet you ; never had that 
pleasure before, but I recognized you at once 
by your picture, hanging in my office. Come 
around and see it. It is an excellent likeness.’ 

“ * Where did all those fellows get my picture 
from ?’ I asked my broker. 

“ ‘ I gave it to them, it is a big advertisement 
for you and me, too,’ he replied. ‘ Don’t you 
see they all know you.’ 

“Down on West street I met many vessel cap- 
tains who frequent the James river, some of 
whom I did not know. They all knew me, how- 
ever, and they all greeted me with : ‘ Hello, 
Gilbert.’ My broker said more New Yorkers 
knew me than he was acquainted with. You 
see it was all through his hanging my picture 
up. Just because I am a black man I attract 
more attention it seems, than any half a dozen 
white folks. 

“ About the middle of the afternoon, I said 
to my broker : ‘ Suppose we go up the river to 
get a look at West Point Military Academy. 
You know I had seen Grant’s tomb and I wished 
to see where that mighty Southern general and 
himself learned the art of war and how to han- 
dle so many men. 

“ ‘ I am agreeable,’ replied my broker ; and 


262 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


he invited all hands at the office to go along, 
which they did at my expense. 

“ Straight down the street to the North river 
was the pier of the steamer ‘ Katskill,’ which 
made excursions to West Point every day. 
Soon we boarded her and went sailing up the 
Hudson river. Oh, I tell you it was grand. 

“ In less than an hour or so we were landed 
at a wharf overlooked by a steep bank, 
and over this bluff beyond was the bar- 
ricks belonging to the nation. Being one 
of the nation, I felt proud of that place ; nor did 
I mind saying so. Anyone who never paid a 
visit to ‘ The Point,’ as they call it in New 
York, has certainly missed a treat. It is the 
prettiest place in the State. The way they teach 
our young men to learn soldiering there beats 
all. I stood on the parade ground and watched 
the boys handle the guns and saw them ride 
their horses, and the way they did both was a 
caution. When I was a boy I could ride any 
mule I ever set eyes on, but I couldn’t ride 
gracefully like those cadets. It looked to me, 
when a squad of them rode around the field, 
like the performances I have seen at the circus. 
And when the whole line on foot got to han- 
dling their rifles, it was just amazing. There is 
no machinery made which can do work any more 


NEW YORK CONTINUED. 


268 


orderly than those boys did it. The drill master 
would yell out, ‘ order arms ! ’ and the whole 
line would bring* their guns down with a thud 
which sounded as though one piece had made 
all the noise. We were shown every part of the 
place — where the cadets slept, ate, went to 
school and to prayers; but many of those fellows, 
I guess, from the tricks I saw them playing on 
one another, didn’t care much whether they 
went to prayers or not. Yes, they showed me 
the very numbers in the barracks which Gen- 
erals Lee and Grant occupied, and I tell you I 
felt proud of being a Virginian, if I am black, 
when I heard ’em read there about what cadet 
Robert E. Lee did both for the United States 
before, and for the South during the Civil War. 
I don’t care whether the cause was right or not, 
I felt proud of that great man, and I told my 
broker so, too. 

“After having seen all that could be shown us 
in the time we had to stay, we again boarded 
the steamer and arrived in the big city — ^just 
in time to go to ‘ dinner ’ as my broker called 
supper. 

“ ‘ Gilbert,' he said, while we were walking 
up the street, ‘you must be all ready at 
a quarter of eight, when I call for you to 
go to the Casino. Don’t be late. I wish 


264 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


you to put on all the extra frills you have 
along in those big Saratoga trunks. You see 
we are to occupy a second tier box. It is the 
finest in the house, and everybody will surely 
look at us, many with opera glasses, and I want 
you to be finely dressed. No doubt they will 
mistake you for some big South American 
sugar planter or a foreign minister. Do you 
object? ' 

“ I told him I would do the best I could, and 
we parted at the door of my lodging place.” 

Gilbert certainly did not lack for wearing 
apparel. Not even the conventional dress suit 
was absent from among his finest, and he wore 
it that evening. The truth is there would not 
be a finer dressed man at the Casino than the 
James river lumberman-planter, and he was con- 
scious of that fact. His shirt front was adorned 
with a gem to be envied, and his tie corre- 
sponded with its surroundings perfectly. In the 
pocket of his waistcoat he carried a heavy gold 
timepiece, matched to a chain which showed its 
genuineness. Standing before his mirror he 
soliloquized thus : “ Gilbert, can this possibly be 
you? Think of where you sprang from and 
now think of your being arrayed in diamonds 
and fine raiment standing before a looking 
glass in the metropolis of the United States 


NEW YORK CONTINUED. 


265 


ready to accompany a prominent man to the 
opera, whence you will witness the play from a 
seat costing a quarter of a hundred dollars. 
Can it be a dream ? No, this is me, sure. This 
black face is certainly familiar.” 

How much longer he might have stood 
there admiring himself is a conundrum, but the 
spell was broken by a summons to the lobby, 
where he found his broker waiting for him. 
That gentleman when he caught sight of Gil- 
bert for a moment stood still and gazed intently 
at his make-up and then exclaimed so pro- 
nouncedly that he was overheard by others : 
“ I tell you, Gilbert, you are certainly hot stuff.” 

I now allowed Gilbert to continue his story. 

“ ‘ Good morning,’ said I, hoping to divert 
the dozen pairs of eyes riveted on me and the 
embarrassment this expression my broker had 
involuntarily made caused me. ‘ Have you 
been long waiting ? ’ 

“ ‘ Only a few moments. But come, we will 
go at once,’ he replied. 

“You see, my broker had observed the effect 
of his intended compliment, and to relieve me 
thought it best to hasten. We found the cab 
awaiting us at the curb, and entering, we drove 
up Broadway. 

“‘/.ml dressed to suit you?’ I inquired. 


266 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW, 


“ ‘ Dressed I Why, your appearance could not 
be better. To tell the truth, I didn’t think you 
could do it, but I take it all back ! ’ he said. 

“ I thanked him for his compliment, and then 
he remarked : 

‘“You will be the “ observed of all observers ” 
this night, as sure as fate, and I guess they will 
take you for an African prince traveling for 
pleasure, and having me along as your valet.’ 

‘“Not as bad as that,’ I said. 

“ ‘ There is no telling,’ he replied. ‘ Should 
one of those many newspaper reporters get his 
eye on us, you will certainly hear from him. 
But here we are,’ he said, as the cab came to a 
stop at the theatre entrance. 

“ ‘ You lead the way, sir,’ I said. ‘ I am out of 
my latitude and am as green as a gourd in 
August.’ 

“ ‘ Don’t you worry ; just follow me as un- 
concernedly as if you had been here a thousand 
times,’ he said. And, noticing how I held my 
hat and walking stick, he went on to say : 

“‘That’s right, hat and cane in the same 
hand ; kids off after you are seated, if you are 
so disposed.’ And he led the way and I fol- 
lowed him to our box.” 

A full house greeted these two as they 
passed to the most conspicuous position within 



Vif 


J* ♦ 


*■ le.-* ▼'''*** 


MV 


1* i - ^ M 

' ./ 




•#1, "-•? = 

* I * . * % • V • » 1 I “«%: O * T 

* ■*■, -.^ '5 fc"'* tT '* 

J l* a Jt- ' 4>’ * ^ iJ» - 

■ ■ t ^ * • 






i M. '^- 


•« '.•i 










■jri ’5 


/ 


r ‘ L 










4 « 




Z - -f 



IIIp '"^ ', ♦' 

.«■«■•. • '-r 

«*•*• |4 

^ r J 

< % V 

» * . .• 1 

" * 

1%^. = 

1.'* 4 ^ " .<_ V' ■ 

1 ? U I ' 

V»..v 

it: 'V 0 




•* -^ - ->•» 4f' ,' 






gilbert. 


NEW YORK CONtlNUKD. 


267 


the arena, while the orchestra was enlivening 
the moments before the curtain should rise on 
the great spectacular drama. Gilbert rested as 
easily and as gracefully in the velvet cushioned 
chair as though he were a king, indeed, seated 
on his throne. In an instant over a hundred 
pairs of opera glasses were focussed on the box, 
from as many parts of the building. Curiosity 
was at its highest pitch. To discover a black 
man occupying a twenty-five dollar box at the 
opera was such an unheard of thing that it 
seemed as if the people would break their necks 
peering in that direction. Ne w Y ork was beaten, 
certain. 

'‘All of this demonstration did not escape 
me, and addressing my broker, I inquired : 
'Who are those people looking at through 
those spy-glasses — you or me ? ’ 

" ' I am certain it is not me,^ replied the broker. 

" ' Am I such a sight ? ’ 1 asked. 

" ' For a fact you are, Gilbert. You have made 
an unconscious hit. In this audience there are 
some of the best people in New York, looking 
in this way, and they are trying to make you 
out? ’ 

'' ' Had I anticipated this commotion, I would 
not have come,’ I said. Just at this mo- 
ment an usher boy entered the box, having a 


268 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


card on a tray. My broker took it, and glanc- 
ing at it, exclaimed ‘ Herald reporter, by thun- 
der ! I told you so.’ And he read the card to 
me, which said : * New York Herald wishes to 
learn if the stranger may be interviewed ? ’ 

' What does that mean ? ’ I asked. And 
my broker said : ‘ The reporter wishes to give 
you a puff in the morning paper.’ I consented 
to be interviewed, and my broker drew out one 
of his cards, wrote something on it, and, hand- 
ing it to the usher, said : ‘ Give him this,’ and the 
boy left the box. 

“ Just as the boy left the box there was a 
sudden flare from all the little lights along 
in front of where the fiddlers and other 
musicians were seated, and in less than a 
minute the big curtain rolled up, half way to 
the eaves. And, Great Scott, what an amazing 
sight I did see ! ‘ What is all this ? ’ I asked my 
broker. The beautiful scenery ; the brilliant 
costumes, and all those pretty girls came nigh 
bewildering me, but after a while I got over my 
surprise and settled down to watching the per- 
formance. ‘ Can all this be real, or is this another 
world I am in ? ’ I asked my broker. Well, 
after a while the curtain dropped, and a minute 
later that newspaper fellow came to see us. My 
broker explained the situation to him and then 


NEW YORK CONTINUED. 


269 


introduced me. He was full of politeness. 
Grasping and shaking my hand, that reporter 
said : ‘ I am pleased to meet you. Glad to 
know that a black man may become both en- 
lightened and rich. I hope you may have a 
pleasant stay in New York,’ and he was gone. 

“ ‘ He didn’t say anything of puffiing me in 
his paper. He just took my name and address,’ 
I said to my broker. 

“‘You look in the paper in the morning; 
maybe he will,’ said my broker, laughing. 

“ ‘ He didn’t stay long either,’ I added ; 
‘ did he?’ 

“ ‘Newspaper men are very busy people. You 
wait until morning,’ was all the answer my 
broker made. 

“Again the curtain rose. It was on the superb 
spectacular act, where the actresses, dressed 
both low from their head and high from their 
feet, came trooping upon the stage. I was 
astonished, and said to my broker, ‘ This beats 
the Bowery. Those women didn’t have any 
stockings on, even. Do they allow women to 
parade themselves so nigh naked as that, right 
before the public ? What would the folks down 
at Claremont say if they should see that sight?’ 

“ ‘ They are dressed in tights, the color of 
their skin,’ he explained. 


270 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


“ ‘ And their skin is mighty nigh through 
their clothes, sure as you are born,’ I answered. 

“ During all this time from some part of the 
house one of those spy-glasses was pointing at 
me, and I didn’t like it much. I said to my 
broker that I guessed those folks would come 
pretty nigh knowing me the next time they 
saw me. It appeared as if I was observed 
about as much as the performers. 

“ ‘ Many of them may have seen the Black 
Crook” before,’ said my broker. To which I 
replied, * And now I suppose they think there are 
two of them, and that they are dividing their time 
between us ; but I’d have you know I am not 
a crook if I am black.’ At this my broker 
laughed heartily. Well, the show ended after 
we had been sitting there nigh half the night 
and the audience all got up and started out. 
As my broker and myself passed down the 
lobby lots of things were said, all aimed at me. 

“ ‘He is a Hindoo prince, I bet,’ I heard a 
young white woman say to her escort, close 
behind me. 

“ ‘ More likely some island nabob,’ said her 
companion, ‘ or a Cuban planter.' 

“ ‘ Well, he must be awfully rich, anyway. 
Did you notice his diamonds and the cut of his 
dress suit ? ’ she inquired. 


NEW YORK CONTINUED. 


271 


“ ‘ There he goes now ’ yelled a gallery god 
ais my broker styled the youngsters who sat up 
near the roof of the house, as we passed through 
the street door. ‘ Oh that coon is no slouch, he 
ain’t. He caught the house to-night, he did. I 
wonder who he is ? ’ 

All that kind of trash I heard said, and then 
one of the youngsters, running up to my broker, 
said : ‘ Mister, is dat fellow a king? ’ ‘ Yes,’ re- 
plied my broker. ‘ How do you like his looks ? ’ 
‘Well, he is rigged to kill. He must be one of 
the boys in his country, for a fact,’ the boy said; 
and then, turning to his companions, exclaimed 
so that any and everybody might hear him: ‘ He 
is a king, just as I said ; but ain’t he black?’ 

“ We soon found our cab and drove down 
own, and about an hour after I reached my lodg- 
ing house. I went to bed and dreamed about 
that show till broad daylight. 

“ One of the clerk’s down at my broker’s 
office asked me next morning what I thought of 
the play. ‘ 1 don’t know what ter think,’ I said, 
‘but I think I know what all of Claremont would 
think if when I go home to-morrow, I was to 
tell ’em I went to see it. I shan’t mention it to 
a living soul, however, so they’ll never know. 
Then the clerk asked me what I thought Clare- 
mont folks would say were I to undertake to 


272 


GILBERT; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


tell them what I saw at that play, to which I re- 
plied : ‘They’d say, “Gilbert, you are the 
biggest liar unhung. No such thing was ever 
seen in New York or anywhere else.” 

“Just as I made this remark to the young 
man, one of my merchant friends dropped into 
the office and, addressing his conversation to me, 
remarked, ‘ I see you attended the Casino last 
evening, and the Herald gives you a send-off 
this morning with a rush.’ 

“ ‘ Read it,’ said I. ‘ What does it say ? ’ 

“ Then he took the paper from his pocket and 
read aloud to all of us : 

“ ‘ A Big Hit. Not only was the performance 
of the Black Crook at the Casino last evening 
up to the standard of excellente for which the 
company producing it is renowned, but there 
was another attraction which drew the closest 
attention of the great audience present. Occu- 
pying the finest box in the auditorium, under 
the escort of a prominent broker of this city, was 
a Southerner of ebony hue who is reputed to be 
fabulously wealthy. His dress certainly indi- 
cated a sound financial standing to a marked 
degree, particularly the brilliancy of the rare and 
costly gem which adorned his shirt bosom. At 
no time during the intervals of the play was he 
not the observed of all observers, and it was, in- 


NEW YORK CONTINUED. 


278 


deed, a great treat to New Yorkers to look upon 
a representative of the black race thus sur- 
rounded. “The James River lumber king,” as 
he is known in that section and in mercantile cir- 
cles of this city, was quickly mistaken for a 
foreign minister by many who had the good 
fortune to be present, and scores of opera glasses 
were pointed in the direction of the box he 
occupied. He is certainly black, but not a crook.’ 

“ My broker, who was present when the mer- 
chant read what the paper said, asked me what 
I thought of it, and I told him I thought that 
reporter said much more than my broker had 
told him. ‘Just suppose that paper gets down 
to Claremont. My friends will worry the life 
out of me,’ said I. 

“ ‘ But you can have the laugh on them, Gil- 
bert,’ said a clerk. ‘You have seen the sights, 
and they haven’t.’ 

“ ‘ And received a big lot of free advertising 
for which any of us w^ould have had to pay 
dearly,’ said the merchant. 

“ ‘ How will anybody know the newspaper 
meant me ; that report didn’t give my name,’ 
said 1. 

“ ‘ There is but one colored lumberman on the 
James river,’ replied my broker. 

“‘That’s so,’ said I. So I bought several 


274 


GILBERT; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


copies of that paper, and brought them home 
with me. Next my broker and I went down to 
the Herald office, where I was met by many of 
the staff, including the editor in charge, and we 
had a royal good time. They showed me all 
around the working department of the building 
and explained the various processes of printing 
a big newspaper. I asked if it required all that 
type and so many presses to print a single 
newspaper, and upon being answered in the 
affirmative, said that I couldn’t see how it could 
be sold so cheap. When my broker and I were 
about to leave the building, I invited all hands to 
accompany me to a convenient saloon, and, as 
is usual with newspaper folks, they all accepted. 

“ ‘ I wish I had time, gentlemen,’ I said, when 
about to part with the jolly fellows, ‘ I would 
stay in New York longer. I have been told that 
a black man has no privileges in this great city, 
but I am happy to find that such is not the case. 
No doubt you have heard that a Yankee has 
no show down South, but I am pleased to in- 
form you that the idea is erroneous. Come to 
Virginia ; come down to Claremont, and so long 
as you behave yourselves you will receive every 
hospitality. I thank you for the many courtesies 
which have been extended me by the people of 
New York.’ And when I had finished they, with 


NEW YORK CONTINUED. 


275 


one accord, cried out, ‘ Good I Hurrah for the 
lumberman I ’ 

“ I went over to the East river to get a look 
at the Brooklyn Bridge, and then I returned to 
my lodging house and began packing up, as I 
was to leave early next morning. I had seen 
some little of New York, had a glimpse of its 
inside life and gathered enough information to 
last me until my dying day. Not long after 
breakfast next morning I boarded the ocean 
liner again, and, without accident, arrived at 
Claremont. My object had been attained, my 
mission accomplished. Now I shall not have 
to depend on others for information touching 
the great lumber mart. I have been there; 
have seen for myself.^’ 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

GILBERT TAKES A WIFE. 
ILBERT’S arrival at Claremont on his 



vJ return from New York was the sensation 
of the day, and he received a royal welcome 
from his friends and the villagers generally. 
Naturally he had very much to relate, and the 
folks hovered about him listening to what he 
had to tell. 

“I suppose you took in the town and had a 
good look at the white elephant,” remarked the 
pier manager upon greeting Gilbert as he 
stepped from the elegant steamer “Pocahontas” 
on to the Claremont landing. 

“I guess I did, sir. About every kind of 
animal is on exhibition in that town, I tell you.” 

As he passed through the village streets on 
his way to Flying Point, he was accosted from 
near and far with the same remark by all : 
“Hello! Gilbert; got back I see. How is New 
York? Did you see the white elephant?” 

“ I wonder what they mean anyhow ? ” solilo- 
quized Gilbert. “ White elephant,” he mur- 
mured. “ I didn’t see any elephants at all, ex- 


GILBERT TAKES A WIPE. 


277 


cept some in Central Park, and if any of those 
were white I do not remember it.’^ Not once 
did it enter Gilbert’s mind that the question 
propounded referred to his having seen the 
especial attractions of the metropolis, and it 
troubled him much until a friend explained the 
situation to him. 

The sudden quietude into which Gilbert 
entered after having passed through the hurry 
and bustle of the great city caused him to be 
ill at ease for a season. He seemed to be un- 
able to content himself on his plantation or 
in looking after the duties pertaining to his 
lumber interests. ‘‘ I think I shall ride over to 
see Georgia to-day,” he murmured, while com- 
muning with his own thoughts. “ It is so lone- 
some here, and besides, I wish to call on her. 
It has been nigh three years since Mary left me 
and it is about time I was looking around for 
some one suitable to fill her place and look out 
for the children, as Mary requested me to do.” 
Quickly he began to dress himself suitably for 
the proposed visit. 

Throughout the neighborhood, and in the 
county at large, all knew of Georgiana Roberts, 
the beautiful mulatto belle. All the colored peo- 
ple, and many a white maiden, cast envious 
eyes at the one who was admitted to be the most 


278 


GILBERT; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


beautiful woman in the county of Surry. 
Georgia, as she was called, resided with her 
mother, not many miles from Flying Point. 
Her father — a white man — never having recog- 
nized his child, the girl had grown up sur- 
rounded by such associations as the better 
element of her race could afford, and, to a 
degree, was an accomplished young woman. 
She had attended the public school and became 
proficient so far as such an institution might 
advance her learning. Among her other studies 
had been that of bookkeeping, a fact well- 
known throughout the neighborhood. 

Georgia Roberts was a tall, graceful young 
woman, her dark, penetrating eyes, jet black 
hair and aquiline features betraying the Cau- 
casian blood which flowed in her veins to a 
marked degree. But, above all, her physical 
charms and natural attractions, Georgia was 
ladylike far beyond the element among whom 
her station had thrown her. From her child- 
hood she had been familiarly acquainted with 
Mary, Gilbert’s wife, and many a happy day 
she had spent in her girlhood romping and 
playing about the hills and valleys of Flying 
Point. Of course, she was many years younger 
than Gilbert, but she had grown to become a 
fully developed woman of five-and-twenty. 



GEORGIA. 












V'. ■•,'•'■;. : 




•]f 



V .’ 7 

'if * 


V **^’ 

K^Htk L _M. 


-Q 








;r«U.*T JU^-* -• 

?■* - lSK’-‘»iei,^'-T;--’; 


i-^. 






:-\- 




> : 




■f .. 







‘ 4 >- . 


)' f 


\ / 






* ■■• ■* 5 ^ 


:-s 





•I . 





f 


•?.. 


•«.* 


ft) 










r C( 


7 t 


Vi 




I '- 


.. ^ 



m « 


1 ^ 


ft V 


« . 




i-- :^’ « 





fll 






V S- 


•4 ^ 



■S-'i 





V ■* * ► ' 

i-ti. . 


.’* 




* * 


« 


A -f 




r iA H 


. i- 




Tr 


f - 


*. t 


t 



.fc. ■ ■ > 




A* 



^ "-• >« 





GILBERT TAKES A WIFE. 


279 


During the past five years she had had many 
suitors, but had turned them all away. “ I shall 
marry no man who cannot prove his worth by 
some deserving act,” she said. “ I hope either 
to marry where I may be exalted, or I shall die 
an old maid.” 

Georgia had never once dreamed that Gilbert 
Wooten entertained a thought of her, save that 
of friendship merely, and it may be readily 
conceived, therefore, that she was surprised 
when the truth dawned upon her. 

Ordering a pair of his finest horses, Gilbert 
stepped into his best buggy and drove over to 
the Roberts home. He was dressed in the 
height of fashion, and was really a fine-looking 
man. Georgia’s mother greeted him cordially 
upon his entrance into her best room. 

“ Anyone who did not know you might think 
you had come a courtin’,” she pleasantly re- 
marked. “ But I suppose since you took that 
trip to New York, Flying Point and home folks 
appear too everyday like, and you are driving 
around until you again become accustomed to 
the humdrum of countrv life.” 

“ Well, it is very quiet, it seems to me, since 
I returned,” said Gilbert, in response. “ But I 
did not call upon you this morning with any 
such intention as you have suggested. To tell 


280 GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 

the plain truth, Mrs. Roberts, I am looking for 
a wife. One who is capable of training my 
children aright and who can keep an eye on 
me, too,’’ he added, with a twinkle in his eye. 
“ I do not desire a trifler, only such a woman 
as I can deeply respect and in whom I can entrust 
the confidence of my business. You know that 
in my childhood there were no schools for me 
to attend, and that I sadly lack in such acquire- 
ments as are vital to my business interests. 
For years I have had to depend on others, and 
I have about concluded that it is time I married 
again.” 

Where do you expect to find a woman with 
the accomplishments you require ? ” responded 
Mrs. Roberts. 

“ I think you might readily guess, madame. 
The only disturbing question is as to whether 
or not she would be willing to trust her happi- 
ness in my keeping,” replied Gilbert. 

“ Indeed, I am at a loss to comprehend. I 
am sure I do not know of any young woman of 
our race, in this country, whom you would 
marry. All of our girls are poor, while you 
are said to be the wealthiest black man in 
Virginia.” 

“ Money has nothing to do with my wooing, 
madame. I think I have enough for two of us. 


Gilbert takes a wife. 


281 


My only aim is to find a wife who may take 
care of the fruits of my labor. I have called to 
learn if your daughter would be willing to fill 
the place in my heart made void by the death 
of my wife,” replied Gilbert. 

“ Really, you surprise me. I am sure Georgia 
has never thought of such a thing, and I am 
certain I never dreamed that my child would 
receive so flattering a proposal,” naively said 
Mrs. Roberts. 

To be candid, Georgia’s mother was sincere 
in her declarations, but with that tact charac- 
teristic of her sex, of every race, she grasped 
the situation instinctively and was equal to the 
occasion in her manner of speech. 

Have you any objection to my becoming 
your son-in-law, should your daughter consent 
to marry me ? ” inquired Gilbert. 

“None, whatever; but I can scarcely con- 
ceive of such a thing,” responded the girl’s 
mother. 

“ Where is Georgia, madame?” Gilbert asked. 

“ She ran over to a neighbor’s half an hour 
ago, but I am expecting her at any moment. 
Ah I there she is, just crossing the field.” But 
a few minutes elapsed before this comely young 
woman entered her home and came into the 
room where her mother and Gilbert were seated. 


282 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


“ Gilbert has called to see you, Georgia,’^ re- 
marked her mother, after greetings had been 
exchanged. “You will excuse me,” she said, 
and, rising, she left the room. 

“Yes, Georgia,” declared Gilbert, “ I have 
called to see you on some very important busi- 
ness. Are you ready to listen to a proposition 
I desire to make ? ” 

“ Certainly, I shall be pleased to listen to what 
you may have to say,” she replied. 

“ I called this morning to ask you to become 
my wife. What have you to say ? ” 

“ First, that you are certainly businesslike in 
your method of making a proposal ” she replied 
with a laugh ; but it might have been readily 
detected that she was greatly surprised, yet not 
distastefully so. 

“ You know I am a plain man. I do not 
believe in beating about a bush. You have 
known me from your babyhood, I you from your 
birth. I wish you to marry me ; will you do it ? ” 

“ Really, I have never thought of such a thing, 
sir, I must confess ; but I will be as plain and as 
brief as you have been. Yes, I will marry you.” 

In the course of an hour Georgia’s mother 
was called in and apprised of the agreement 
between Georgia and Gilbert, and the wedding 
day was fixed upon. “ Don’t put it off,” said 


GILBERT TAKES A WIFE. 


283 


Gilbert. “ I don’t believe in long courtships; 
something might happen.” 

It was arranged that one month from that day 
Gilbert and Georgia were to wed, and Gilbert 
drove back to Flying Point as contented a man 
as might have been found in the State of Vir- 
ginia. 

'‘That’s what I call good luck,” he said 
to himself aloud, during his drive, while return- 
ing from the Roberts homestead to his own. 
“ I believe in doing things straight, and it 
appears that she does, too. Where is there 
another girl in this county who would have 
accepted a fellow, however much she wished to, 
without putting him off that she might be 
coaxed into saying she would have him. I know 
that is what the white folks call ‘ proper,’ but it 
appears to me that it ought to be different. If 
a man wants a woman and that certain woman 
wishes to unite with that man, what’s the use of 
* backing and filling,’ as the sailors say when 
the wind blows first on one side and then on the 
other. Now, Georgia and I will be married and 
spend our honeymoon before most couples have 
gotten through billingand cooing after becoming 
engaged. None of this business for me. I am 
not book learnt, but I do think lots of precious 
time is wasted by folks that should be put to 


284 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


better use. God created man for woman and 
woman for man, just as he did the birds of the 
air, and I am sure they do all of their courting 
in one day and don’t have any foolishness about 
it either.” 

Thus soliloquizing Gilbert reached his home 
where, calling all of his children about him, he 
informed them of his intention to remarry. 

“Who is she?” inquired Scilla, his grown 
daughter, who, upon being told, expressed much 
satisfaction. “ We have no objection to receiv- 
ing her as a mother. She is a fine woman with 
whom all of us are well acquainted, but I did 
not know you had an idea of being married,” 
she continued. 

“ Yes, my children ; one month from this day 
I expect to be married, and I wish you all to 
prepare for the wedding,” said Gilbert. 

“ O, we shall all be there, daddy I I s’ pose 
’twill be a big time,” exclaimed one little 
fellow. 

“Yes,” said another. “Lots of good things 
to eat and drink. I’m going shuah.” 

It soon became known that this colored high 
society couple were to be married, and the usual 
excitement characteristic of all walks of life was 
the result. Many of the mothers having mar- 
riageable daughters, who had cast longing eyes 


GILBERT TAKES A WIFE. 


285 


at the rich widower — and Flying Point, too — 
were very open in their criticism. 

“ She is jess marry’n of him fer his money,” 
said one. “ One mought know dat hansom 
^oman didn’t keer fer dat man, what am two 
times older den she is,” volunteered another. 
“ I seed Miss Roberts in Claremont dis blessed 
mon’n,” remarked a third, “ en I declar’ ter 
goodness she walked wid her head so high she 
couldn’t see common folks.” “ O, she’ll be a 
puttin’ on airs now, I tell you,” rejoined the first 
speaker. “Howsumever, thet gal am lucky. 
Dar aint no disputin’ of dat fac’. But I’m 
thinkin’ my gal mought have been better suited 
ter him. I don’t b’lieve in no black man er 
marry’n of a yaller nigger, nohow,” she con- 
tinued. 

Meanwhile great preparations were being 
made at the Roberts residence for the proper 
reception of the many who had been invited to 
grace this, the event of the season, in upper cir- 
cles. All of the aristocratic (?) negroes near 
and far had received invitations, and the small 
fry were on the qui vive of expectancy. Many 
really felt grossly insulted at not having been 
invited, some of whom expressed themselves in 
no uncertain tone. 

” I guess we shan’t miss much by not bein» 


286 


gilbert; or, then and now. 


axt ter de wedden,” said one old crone to an- 
other. Miss Roberts dun got ’bove herself 
moughty sudden. But I knows her from Vay 
back. She ain’t got nary red cent more’n us. 
En just ’cause dat spritely yaller gal of hern 
gwine ter marry Gilbert Wooten taint no use 
fer her to be a puttin’ on lugs. Ef I ain’t good 
’nuf fer her ter be axt to der wed’n I ain’t good 
’nuf to spoke ter her eny more, en so I ain’t 
gwine ter notice her de fust time I seen her 
agin,” she continued. 

“ Yes, chile,” said another, dat am so, shuah 
’nough. I is dun know’d dat Roberts ’omen fer 
nigh onto forty years en she needn’t thunk I 
keer whether she axes me er no. Dey doan 
mount ter no mo den de rest of we poor niggers 
any how, an’ if it ’twant fer thinkin’ of gittin’ 
Gilbert’s money she’d be as good as pie to us. I 
’low dat Gilbert has ter pay all de bills what dat 
great tirade am gwine ter cost. Whar did ever 
dey be a getten der money ter be a buy’n silks 
an’ satins fer dat gal less Gilbert guv it ter ’em ? 
But all de same I should like ter saw what kind 
of er spred dey am er makin’.” 

The foregoing is but a sample of the charac- 
ter of criticism which sprang from the jealous 
hearts of that class which had been cut from the 
list of the elect. There are as many circles of 


GILBERT TAKES A WIFE. 


287 


society among the negroes as among the whites 
with the simple difference that one class of 
whites never expect to mingle in the domestic 
relations of another of social superiority, while 
among the blacks all who are omitted from any 
great social event among their race take offence 
at what they consider an insult. It may be 
readily conceived, therefore, that criticism, the 
natural offshoot of envy, was rife in the vicinity ; 
but this did not disturb those at whom its shafts 
were aimed. Indeed, there was no little curi- 
osity displayed among the white ladies who 
resided in the section upon learning of the 
magnificence of the trousseau being prepared 
for the belle of the colored community, and 
more than one white girl who had been invited 
to inspect the wedding gowns had both admired 
and envied the fortunate possessor of such ele- 
gant apparel. It had been announced that this 
was to be the most gorgeous nuptial celebration 
ever held in Virginia by a colored couple, and 
great was the excitement attending the coming 
event. There were to be eight maids of honor 
and as many best men, all of whom had been 
selected from the very cream of colored society. 
The officiating clergyman had been chosen from 
the most fashionable church in the vicinity, and 
Gilbert had even gone so far as to confer the 


:88 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


honor of an invitation on his white business 
associates and many other gentlemen with 
whom he had been acquainted for years. 

The Roberts home was a blaze of light on 
the evening of the wedding. Great numbers 
of presents had found their way to the house, 
many being sent by the whites — notably a costly 
silver service from Gilbert’s New York broker. 
At the appointed hour the pair were made one, 
and after hearty congratulations had been ex- 
tended the fun and feasting began, and only 
closed with the wee sma’ hours of the morning, 
when the last guest departed, having wished 
the happy couple a long and prosperous life. 
The scene of feasting and dancing was repeated 
at Flying Point on the following evening. 

Like all other happy occasions, this social 
event passed into local history, and again we 
find Gilbert giving his time and attention to 
business, aided, however, by a proficient aux- 
iliary in the form of his new wife, who had as- 
sumed not only charge of his household, but 
had taken his business affairs under her especial 
guidance by attending to the books. From 
this hour order was brought out of the chaos 
into which things had become involved, and 
system proved of great advantage. Georgia 
showed herself to be a capital manager, causing 


GILBERT TAKES A WIFE. 


289 


many a dollar to find itself accredited to the 
bank account which hitherto had been allowed 
to go astray. 

Although married for several years, there 
were no children born to this couple, but 
Georgia, in the kindness of her natural in- 
stinct, had adopted a male infant and watched 
over it with the same tender care she would 
have bestowed upon her own offspring. This 
child she christened Hezekiah, but he was 
more familiarly known as Hezzie. In his in- 
fancy, Georgia had looked forward to great 
things from this boy, who gave evidence of 
being a bright and intelligent child to a marked 
degree. “ Hezzie bids-fair to become a useful 
man,^’ she said. “ I shall train him aright, and 
some day I hope to see him grown up to be- 
come an honor to his race and a credit to him- 
self.” 

At the age of twelve years, the boy had 
become quite useful to his foster parents, 
but it was observed that as he physically 
developed, just in that proportion his mental 
faculties seemed to weaken, and but too plainly 
it became apparent that the bright prospects 
which his foster-mother had pictured as being 
in store for him, had suddenly vanished. Every 
effort was made to check the mental disease 


290 


gilbert ; or, then and now. 


which threatened to warp, if not to engulf, his 
reason. Physicians were consulted who applied 
their best skill to only partial advantage, and it 
soon became a sad yet settled fact that Hezzie 
would never rise above the sphere of those 
who were created to become hewers of wood 
and drawers of water. 

During the past dozen years, Gilbert, under 
the watchful supervision of his faithful wife, 
had made much progress and was looked up 
to by the people of his race, and recognized 
generally by the whites, as being a solid man 
of business, but none of us know what is in 
store for us, nor what a day may bring forth. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

FINANCIAL DISASTER. 

I T has been stated that the major part of the 
business in which Gilbert was engaged 
was that of lumber and wood. To successfully 
carry on such it became necessary for him to 
buy much land and the timber rights of a much 
larger acreage. These negotiations naturally 
involved thousands of dollars. Like unto a 
majority of other business men, Gilbert often 
incurred great risks, which nothing short of a 
miracle could make a success. Largely he was 
dependent upon the judgment of others, some 
of whom, it is painful to relate, were not so 
capable of giving good advice as they imag- 
ined, while in other instances those who had an 
ox to sell, or, as the old saying puts it, “ An axe 
to grind, urged him on to the making of such 
plunges as eventually caused him great finan- 
cial annoyance. “It is a good investment; 
go ahead, Gilbert,” would be the advice of one. 
“You can make a success of it, as there is no 
danger of the market dropping,” his agents 
wrote him. “ You may draw on us for ail the 
ready cash you require,” continued the letter. 


292 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


Such encouraging assurances as the foregoing 
are calculated to strengthen the confidence of 
the shrewdest men. It is not surprising, there- 
fore, that an unlettered man, who was depend- 
ent solely upon the judgment of his professional 
business acquaintances, should heed their 
counsel and make ventures which mature judg- 
ment would forbid. There was one, however, 
who foresaw and feared the coming storm 
although the cloudless sky of prosperity gave 
no visible sign of the impending danger to any 
other. This one was Georgia, the faithful help- 
mate, who had labored for so many years. 

“ We had better be satisfied with our present 
surroundings than to heedlessly follow the 
advice of others who have nothing at stake — 
nothing to lose. Your business is good enough 
as it is. I advise that you make no more 
ventures.” This was the counsel given Gilbert 
in a confidential interview with his wife. But 
so firm was he in the belief that anything he 
undertook must necessarily prove a success 
that he allowed her warnings to pass unheeded. 

It was safe enough for his broker to advance 
Gilbert all the capital he required to conduct 
whatever enterprise he launched into. In his 
own right Gilbert possessed vast tracts of real 
estate, and in the event of failure his broker 


FINANCIAL DISASTER, 


293 


would be advantageously secured. And it was 
as equally safe for that other class of satellites 
who lived by sapping the financial life-blood 
from the credulous veins of this plain, honest man, 
who placed implicit confidence in the honeyed 
words of flattery they poured into his naturally 
susceptible ears. And so Gilbert continued to 
plunge, heedless of consequences. Time alone 
could unfold the result, as ventures in his line of 
business, like many another great body, moved 
slowly. In the midst of his last great business 
stroke the foreshadowing of a coming sorrow 
stared him in the face, causing him much 
anxiety. 

The hectic flush which mantled the cheek of 
his beautiful wife became deeper and deeper 
day by day. The brilliant lustre of her lovely 
eyes was fast fading away. Some said too close 
confinement, others attributed the marked physi- 
cal change in Georgia to mental overwork. 
But Georgia knew, and Gilbert suspected, the 
true meaning of nature’s decline. The most 
eminent specialists accessible were consulted 
in vain. That dreaded disease, which has 
blushed the cheek and blighted the hopes of so 
many among the fairest in the land, bedimming 
the brightest eye and impairing the strongest 
intellect, had fastened its deadly grasp about 


294 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


this truly worthy and deserving woman. But 
a few more months and Georgia must succumb, 
a victim to consumption. Tenderly did Gilbert 
anticipate her every comfort, but in vain. The 
disease baffled both prayer and skill, and Geor- 
gia passed away to the great beyond, leaving 
her husband inconsolably desolate. All the 
years of her married life had been faithfully 
devoted to the vows she had plighted at the 
altar. That she had become the mainstay of 
the family was recognized by all, but now 
she too must be laid away beside Mary, in 
the family lot beneath the overhanging bows 
of the stately cedars which keep a ceaseless 
watch over the dead. 

It was, indeed, a sad hour for Gilbert, when, 
for the last time, he looked upon the face of his 
departed wife. From the moment he laid her 
away he became a changed man. Deeper and 
deeper he plunged into business ventures, but 
his guardian angel seemed not to accompany 
him. The good fortune which had crowned his 
past successes had evidently turned from him. 
These repeatedly unfortunate investments had 
made great inroads into his commercial stand- 
ing and ploughed deep furrows in his brow. In 
less than a year after his sore bereavement he 
discovered that he was bordering on the brink 


FINANCIAL DISASTER . 


296 


of financial ruin. His embarrassment could 
not well be kept a secret, and soon whispers 
among- those who had been closest to him and 
for whom he had done so much, were audibly- 
spoken. Men whom he had befriended in the 
hour of their financial travail were the first to 
turn against him, evidencing by their actions 
the gross ingratitude which often controls 
the human heart. So rapidly did his troubles 
crowd upon him that the strain became unbear- 
able, and he became mentally unbalanced, the 
result being a long, lingering stay in a sanitarium 
as the only refuge for an overtaxed brain. 

'‘Well, the old fool has failed, has he?’’ re- 
marked a man whom Gilbert had started in life 
by lending him his credit to the extent of two 
thousand dollars. 

“What else did you expect?” inquired an- 
other who had been the primary cause of the 
disaster which had fallen so heavily upon the 
shoulders of this man who had long since passed 
the three-score years’ mark. “ Had he left well 
enough alone he might have retired on a hand- 
some competency ; but I guess he is about at 
the end of his rope now.” 

“ Good enough for him, anyhow,” declared a 
trader who had enjoyed Gilbert’s patronage 
exceeding thousands annually. “ The old sucker 


296 


GILBERT; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


owes me about a hundred and I shall take im- 
mediate steps to secure that.” 

“Well, you see,” said a village know-all, but 
one who had never been of any use to anybody, 
“that nigger has been cutting too wide a 
swath to suit the whites hereabouts for years, 
and he will get but little sympathy from any of 
the business people of Claremont.” 

“ Is it true that Gilbert Wooten is involved 
beyond his ability to pay ?” inquired a stranger 
who none of the trio of village gossips knew. 
“ That’s what is said,” came the response, and 
the stranger turned away without a word from 
his lips. 

Meanwhile the subject of all the gossip of the 
village of Claremont lay in a Petersburg hos- 
pital, lingering between death and the possible 
loss of his reason, totally unconscious of the fact 
that both whites and blacks about his home 
were gloating over his financial downfall. Since 
the death of Georgia the affairs of Gilbert’s 
business accounts had been under the care of a 
man whom he had liberally paid to keep his 
books, depending implicitly in him to honestly 
and faithfully perform that service. How well 
he had done his duty may be inferred from the 
fact that at no time did he apprise or warn his 
employer against the impending danger, but 


FINANCIAL DISASTER. 


297 


allowed the storm to burst over his unsuspecting 
head with indescribable fury. “ Where the car- 
case lieth, there will the vultures gather,” is a 
proverbial adage aptly suited to this instance. 

About Flying Point Gilbert’s colored acquaint- 
ances hovered. In his palmy days of prosper- 
ity his colored neighbors had assumed the 
greatest latitude in borrowing (?) whatsoever 
suited their fancy which happened not to be 
nailed down, and now that it had become known 
throughout the community that possibly every- 
thing must go to satisfy creditors who had 
become ravenously hungry, their requirements 
became many, and much of the abundance 
found on an admirably well-equipped farm dis- 
appeared in the twinkling of an eye — bor- 
rowed (?) at dead of night from the owner who 
was not at home. His friends (?) never expected 
to see him rise from the hospital couch on 
which he lay. His creditors, careless as to his 
personal fate, meantime having seized his real 
and chattel estate pending settlement of their 
claims. Even his broker had allowed his heart 
to become as callous as adamant, and, being a 
heavy creditor, had put his clutches on the lion’s 
share, leaving the bones of this once fine prop- 
erty to be picked by the chattering small fry. 
For three long months did Gilbert linger in the 


298 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


sick ward, and then, thanks to the skill and 
attention of those angels of mercy who hover 
about the bedside of the stricken one, returned 
to his home. “Home,’^ did I say ? No, not home, 
for the spot which had once been to him a home, 
with all the sanctity the term implies, had been 
desecrated by the ingrates who had fattened on 
his substance during his enforced absence. 
Weak, helpless, friendless, he confronted the 
horde of jackals of his prosperous days, and 
said : “ But give me time and I will pay you 
dollar for dollar. And should you decide not 
to grant my request I am ready to sacrifice my 
whole property to satisfy you.’’ That the reader 
may appreciate the honest intention of Gilbert, 
let it be remembered that, under the law of 
Virginia, his homestead track. Flying Point, 
could not be taken from him, assuming his 
obligations to be far in excess of all the prop- 
erty he might possess. Nevertheless, he made 
the offer, ignorant of his legitimate right to 
retain his home, and was ready to sacrifice it 
upon the altar of financial honor. 

The time asked for being refused, Gilbert sent 
for a lawyer, and, having fully explained to him 
the complications in which he had become in- 
volved, assigned, for the benefit of his creditors, 
every dollar’s worth of property he had in the 


FINANCIAL DISASTER. 


299 


world. Soon his once vast land holdings had 
been cut up and sold, only Flying Point, his 
place of abode, being conditionally spared to 
him. Those who had for so long fattened on 
his earnings did have the grace to allow this 
old, ignorant and enfeebled negro the alterna- 
tive of paying within the limit of three years 
the sum of eighteen hundred dollars in lieu of 
being turned out of doors ; taking a homestead 
waiver mortgage on the premises, however, to 
secure the sum which they demanded. 

It is, indeed, a sad commentary on the intel- 
ligence and standing of the whites that any 
among them may retain the respect of their 
fellow citizens who would deliberately filch from 
an untutored black man the substance he had 
acquired by persevering industry, and yet that 
in this case somebody had taken advantage of 
Gilbert, cannot be successfully denied, or that a 
plot was laid to relieve him of his last penny. 
The mortgage on his homestead subjected him 
to make three payments of six hundred dollars 
each, in one, two and three years, with the 
proviso that if any one of his three notes of 
hand should be defaulted. Flying Point must 
be sacrificed to satisfy the debt. When it is 
considered that this old man of seventy odd 
years had been stripped of every opportunity 


800 


GlLbliRT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


to meet the conditions of the mortgage, and 
that everyone had turned against him, leaving 
him helpless upon this farm, with none to till 
the soil, how transparent is the scheme to de- 
prive him of his home. Ye Gods I how low 
some mortals stoop ! 

But, to add to the injurious advantage which 
had been taken of Gilbert, a preconcerted plan 
of action had been determined upon by these 
sharks who formerly hovered like vampires 
about him, fawning and flattering by feigning 
friendship, to complete his eternal financial 
downfall. They would deny him credit. Not 
one, but all of those among whom he had spent 
so much money. Four thousand dollars was 
estimated to be the amount of his indebtedness 
to those whom he secured by the assignment of 
his property, it being ascertained that the estate 
so conveyed would liquidate the claims of all, 
dollar for dollar. 

Can a more pitiable instance of business de- 
pravity be suggested than this almost inhuman 
act on the part of men whose self-respect and 
commercial standing should have precluded for 
an instant any thought save the Divine injunc- 
tion, “ Do unto others as you would have them 
do unto you.” Can one imagine a more de- 
grading spectacle than to see exhibited such 


FINANCIAL DISASTER. 


801 


heartlessness on the part of so-called men of 
business integrity, who would undergo any de- 
privation rather than thus conduct themselves 
when dealing with one of their own race? 
And yet these could stoop to fleece a poor old 
negro of his last crumb and undermine his last 
financial prop. Had they but taken a retro- 
spective glance over the past life of this old 
man, now verging and tottering upon the brink 
of the grave. Had they recalled his charitable 
and public donations in the upbuilding of his 
race, both intellectually and morally, by the 
liberality which he ever displayed, possibly the 
Shylocks, so eager to clutch the pound of flesh 
due them, would have been checked in their 
avaricious heedlessness by the fear that some 
Portia might proclaim to a world of decency 
the nefariousness of their contemptible pro- 
cedure. Assuredly these must have flung 
conscience to the dogs, or else the instinctive 
premonition of possible ostracism being their 
portion would have brought them to their 
senses e’er they had insulted the mandates of 
God’s law and traduced those of civilization. 

“ I hope to pay that mortgage on Flying 
Point, if God spares me to live, somehow,” said 
Gilbert in conversation with a gentleman of his 
acquaintance. “ They have brought me in debt 


802 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


over three thousand dollars annually for the 
past three years. How it could be possible I 
cannot see. When Georgia died, less than four 
years ago, I did not owe five hundred dollars in 
the wide world. Maybe I owe all this money, 
but I cannot tell how I came to do so. My 
farm had been self-sustaining and much more. 
According to the figures read to me I have been 
going behind for years. It is the strangest 
thing I ever heard of, but I pray Heaven will 
spare to me my habitation free from the clutches 
of my creditors, and that I may die with the 
consoling thought that my bones and those of 
my people are safe from desecration.” 


CHAPTER XX. 

A FRIEND OF LONG AGO. 

S has been his custom for the past thirty 



r\ years or more, Gilbert visits the village 
of Claremont very nearly every week day in 
the year, nothing save absence from his home 
or sickness deterring him. Such a familiar 
figure as his would be missed from the streets 
were he to refrain from putting in an appear- 
ance at the usual noonday mail hour. Very 
true, men who formerly hung about him, pass 
him by unnoticed or else with a cold bow. But 
the ** old man,” as he is now familiarly known, 
shows no sign of the great burden which 
rankles within his breast. 

One morning he was accosted on the street 
by a stranger who thus saluted him : 

“ Is this Gilbert? ” 

“ I am he, sir ; ” said Gilbert. 

“ I am pleased to meet you,” continued the 
stranger. ** It has certainly been many years 
since I last saw you.” 

** Indeed, sir, you have the advantage of me. 
I do not recall your face. May I ask how long 
ago it has been since last we met ? ” 


304 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


“About thirty-five years, I think,” was the 
response. 

“ And where did we meet ? ” asked Gilbert. 

“ In Claremont, as I remember, yet we had 
often met prior to that occasion,” answered the 
stranger, with a pleasant smile. 

“ Who are you, pray? ” eagerly exclaimed 
Gilbert. It having dawned upon him that there 
was something about the face and form of the 
man that appeared familiar. 

“ Can you not guess?” came the response. 

Gilbert critically studied the features of the 
other for a few moments and shook his head. “ I 
do not recall you, sir ; I feel certain I have seen 
you before, but I cannot place you,” he said. 

“Allow me to refresh your memory a little. 
Possibly that may aid you in tracing my iden- 
tity. Thirty-seven years ago a young man was 
thrown into great peril of his life by enemies 
who threatened to assassinate him for an alleged 
grievance, but of which he was totally inno- 
cent. Their plot was to waylay and shoot him 
on a lonely road which the young man must 
necessarily travel on a certain evening. Their 
threats and plans were discussed in audible 
tones within earshot of Gilbert Wooten, who, 
by the merest chance, overheard the conversa- 
tion.” 


A FRIEND OF LONG AGO. 


805 


At this juncture Gilbert’s eyes became again 
intently fixed upon the features of the speaker, 
the light of returning memory spreading itself 
over his swarthy countenance, but he spake not 
a word. 

Being well acquainted with the young 
man,” the stranger continued, “ against whose 
life the plot was being arranged, you traveled 
a distance of fifteen miles at dead of night to 
apprise him of his danger. Do you remember 
the instance ? ” 

“ I do, sir ; well. And you are the man 1 ” 
exclaimed Gilbert. 

“ I am he,” declared the stranger. 

“ I never should have known you, sir,” de- 
clared Gilbert, as the other took his hand and 
warmly shook it. 

“ Time makes many changes in one’s appear- 
ance, Gilbert. You are not so young as you 
were when I was a boy,” said the stranger. 

‘'Far from it, sir; nor so happy.” 

Explanations here followed, and then the 
stranger said : “I have heard of your financial 
embarrassment, and I think I see a way to re- 
lieve you in part. You know one good turn 
deserves another, as the old saying goes. I 
owe you a debt of gratitude it will be hard, 
indeed, to cancel, and if I can aid you by 


806 


GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 


carrying out the idea I have in mind, I shall be 
most happy to do so.” 

*‘Any way to relieve me of my burden will be 
thankfully received, sir,” said Gilbert. 

“ Listen. In your lifetime you have passed 
through a most thrilling experience, many of 
the startling episodes and adventures of which 
are well known to me. I think a book, em- 
bodying your career from youth to the present 
hour, would be appreciated by the great read- 
ing public, apd such a work, if placed upon the 
market, may bring sufficient returns to relieve, 
in a measure, your pressing requirements.” 

That may be true, sir ; but where shall I 
find a man who can and will write the book?*’ 

“That is just what I am about to propose. 
I will undertake the task, only requiring that 
you supply me with such events and data as I 
wish, of which you may possess a knowledge.” 

“I shall be very grateful, sir, should you 
render me this service. Umph ! To think that 
you, whom I have known more’n fifty years, 
should come back, after being away so long, 
and have never forgotten my warning. God 
be praised I I have found one man who don’t 
forget a favor.” 

“When will you write the book, sir?” 
eagerly continued Gilbert 


A FRIEND OF LONG AGO. 


307 


“ I am ready to begin at once, that it may be 
published in ample time for the realization of a 
sum of money sufficient to save your home- 
stead from going under the hammer of the 
auctioneer.” 

When Gilbert returned to Flying Point that 
day, his newly found old acquaintance accom- 
panied him. Nor did his friend leave again 
until the life of his benefactor had been written. 

There has been no attempt made in this work 
to conceal the identity of any essential character 
who figured in the making of Gilbert, what he 
is or has been. Any and all reference, however, 
to those who knew him best before and during 
the Civil War has been prompted by the kind- 
est feeling and with the best possible motive. 
Associating any with the name of this colored 
man, in the light intended, in no sense may be 
considered derogatory to their standing, but, on 
the contrary, the motive has been to show the 
kindly relationship, which existed between the 
races at the period mentioned. 

The author has no excuse to offer for having 
come to the rescue of Gilbert, other than that 
which is given in this chapter. Being a scion 
of one of the oldest families of the Old Dom- 
inion, who served in the ranks of the Confederate 
cause, he has written from experience. He 


808 GILBERT ; OR, THEN AND NOW. 

anticipates that many among his race will take 
exceptions at certain criticisms and advisedly 
worded strictures in which he has indulged in 
relation to the prejudicial position many assume 
towards the negro race, hence any expression of 
censure on their part will not come unexpect- 
edly upon him, and will, therefore, be simply a 
waste of energy on the part of his critics. 

There are comparatively few living to-day who 
know the traits of character of the old-time negro 
better than the writer of these pages. Reared 
amongst them, he is as capable of judging of 
their true character as any of a latter-day gen- 
eration, who are so tainted with prejudice, 
born of hearsay, that they cannot render a fair 
judgment in passing upon the merits of a negro. 
So blinded, in fact, have many become that the 
declaration is made by some that “ A nigger 
has no soul to save, therefore should be classed 
with the lower animals.” There are as many 
bigotted Pharisees at this, the dawn of the 
twentieth century, as there were two thousand 
years ago, all of whom should be reminded of 
the familiar quotation 

** O, wad some power the giftie gie us 

To see oursels as others see us.” 


Gilbert still resides at Flying Point Alone 


A FRIEND OF LONG AGO. 


809 


and desolate, he ceaselessly prays that a sym- 
pathetic public may pity him in his unfortunate 
old age to the extent of the price of a copy of 
this work. His life has been harrowed by many 
checkered events, and yet — 

Untainted by the guilty bribe, 

Untarnished by the harpy tribe, 

No orphan’s cry to wound his ear. 

His honor and his conscience clear — 

Thus may he calmly meet his end, 

And to the grave in peace descend. 


t * 



VY; 

s’ '. •* - 

{ 


•V 


¥ 


J 

¥ 


>.V 





I 


I 



/ 


i 


■ j 





jAN IP 1"-- 



I 


* 



